


Yuri on Ice Kink Week 2017 Fills

by anirondack



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: A Couple Feelings Here And There, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Banter, Blow Jobs, Bottom Katsuki Yuuri, Bottom Victor Nikiforov, Communication, Detroit days, Drunk Sex, Light Dom/sub, Loud Sex, M/M, Masturbation, Mentions of Christophe Giacometti/Victor Nikiforov, Multi, Nipple Piercings, Nipple Play, Phichit Chulanont Is a Good Friend, Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Sex, Post-Canon, Power Bottom Katsuki Yuuri, Praise Kink, Pre-Canon, Pre-established consent, Prostate Massage, Riding, Rimming, Skype, Skype Sex, Taking Things Slow, Tattoos, Top Phichit Chulanont, Victor Is Anxious And Loves Yuuri A Lot, Webcam/Video Chat Sex, World Champion Katsuki Yuuri, Yuri!!! on Ice Kink Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-22
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-03 19:04:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10973454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anirondack/pseuds/anirondack
Summary: fics forYuri on Ice Kink Week! all 7 fics will be added here as chapters and tags will be updated accordingly.Day 1: Drunk Sex (Victor/Chris)Day 2: Praise Kink (Yuuri/Phichit)Day 3: Loud Sex (Yuuri/Victor)Day 4: Piercings/Tattoos(Yuuri/Victor)Day 5: More Than Two People (Yuuri/Victor/Phichit)Day 6: Rimming (Yuuri/Victor)





	1. Day 1: Drunk Sex (Chris/Victor)

**Author's Note:**

> all the kink week fills are going here, so subscribe and/or bookmark to keep track!
> 
> after the 10 kinks challenge, I'm trying to branch out and do things I haven't written before. i hope you give them a shot!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tags for this chapter: Drunk Sex, Pre-Canon, Pre-Established Consent, Platonic Sex, A Couple Feelings Here And There

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you're on desktop, you can hover your mouse over the lines where they're speaking french and get a translation. if you're on mobile... well, they're talking dirty to each other.

Victor reaches into his suit pocket and runs his thumb along the length of the key card he’s been holding onto for half a week. The elevator rumbles a little as it starts rising and Victor stumbles back into the wall. It’s a nice hotel, but the elevators could use some work. He raises his eyes to the tiny security camera on the ceiling and flashes a warm smile at it in case anyone is watching. But his eyes are a little droopy, tired and dragged down by champagne, and he knows it.

The elevator pings and Victor stumbles out of the elevator the same way he stumbled into it. The hall is quiet - most people are out, prolonging the party. Victor doesn’t usually go with them; banquets are tiring enough. He touches the key card again, to make sure that it’s still there, like it would have gone anywhere in the seven seconds since he last checked. He didn’t even stop by his room after leaving the party, just walked straight into an elevator and leaned his head against the cool stainless steel.

What room is it? He looks at the card, which doesn’t say. If course it wouldn’t say - that’s the easiest way for someone to break in. It was six something, six twenty something? Victor tries six twenty-one, which is the nearest door. That doesn’t open, and neither does six twenty-two or six twenty-three, but on six twenty-five the little green LED lights up and the lock clicks open. Victor sighs in relief and tucks the card away, not that he’ll need it again after tonight, and then shoulders his way in through the door.

Chris is sprawled on the floor in a hotel robe, nested in a pile of tossed away clothed, his head in his suitcase. He raises his head to look at Victor and a wobbly smile spreads across his face, and then he flops back down. “You’re late.”

“We didn’t set a time.” Victor tries to lean his arm on the desk and misses and stumbles and catches him.

Chris laughs. “Don’t hurt yourself. How much did you drink?”

“As much as you.” Not enough to be quite so wobbly as he’s being, but he’s certainly not sober and a little wobble against a desk is worth it to hear Chris laugh.

“Come down here, _mon ami_ , I’ve been so lonely.”

“You only left half an hour ago,” Victor points out, but he kicks off his shoes and drops his suit jacket on top of them and crawls down to lie directly on top of Chris.

“Mm. You’re heavy,” Chris says, clearly enjoying it. He loops one arm around Victor’s shoulder’s Victor sighs champagne-scented breath over Chris’s neck. “I missed you, Victor.”

“You saw me an hour ago,” Victor says, though he know that’s not what Chris means.

Chris knows that Victor knows too, so he lets it go. “Such a pain to get an extra key at registration. You’d think they were expecting me to rob someone.”

“Or maybe they knew you’d give it to me,” Victor murmurs. Chris is warm and solid under him. Victor feels sleepy, but he also feels itchy, needy for something rawer and more real than he’s allowed to be in this suit. “And they wanted to make sure you were skating straight.”

“I’ve never skated straight, how dare you,” Chris says, and then laughs again. He throws his other arm around Victor. “Forever spinning.”

In Chris’s suitcase, Victor catches a flash of a silver medal. Then Chris turns head head and his hair covers it and it’s like there is no medal. Victor certainly didn’t bring his.

“Why are we in a suitcase,” Victor asks.

“I’m taking you back to Bern with me. Apologies for the short notice.”

“Ah, cruel,” Victor says. “Makkachin will be so lonely in the pet hotel.”

“He can come if he can tolerate cats.”

“He handles my rink mates just fine.”

Chris laughs and Victor listens and burns and kisses him.

Chris keeps laughing for a couple of second afterwards, like it’s taking him a moment to catch up, and then the hands that were on Victor’s shoulders are both knotted in Victor’s hair, pulling him into a better position. Victor goes easily, willingly, and bites Chris’s tongue when Chris opens his mouth. Chris bucks underneath him, and Victor wraps his legs around Chris’s thighs to keep him from moving too much. Moving quickly makes him a little dizzy.

“Not that I don’t love your underwear,” he mumbles, half intelligible against Chris’s lips. “But I’d rather be on the bed and not in your dirty clothes.”

“They’re perfectly clean,” Chris protests, but doesn’t put up any other fight. He pushes Victor up, then wraps his arms around Victor’s middle and hefts him up onto his shoulder. Victor yelps and flails his legs, and Chris throws him down onto the bed, which is still unmade from this morning. The world spins briefly and then corrects itself, just in time for Victor to see Chris’s hands at his waist, undoing Victor’s belt and not bothering to pull it free before he takes off Victor’s pants, tugging both legs down and taking Victor’s socks with them. Victor arches, because he knows it gets Chris going, and lets his thighs fall to the sides. Chris stops and stares, lips parted slightly, a flush already on his face, and this shakes his head to clear it and throws Victor’s pants over his shoulder. He strips off his own robe - nothing underneath, because of course there isn’t - and then flops unceremoniously back on top of Victor.

Victor grunts as air is forced out of his lungs, and then he wraps all of his limbs around Chris and buries his face in Chris’s shoulder. “You smell good.”

“You smell like champagne,” Chris points out. He’s rubbing his cheek against Victor’s, almost like his cat. The stubble burn will hurt in the morning but right now it feels good. “I showered first, at least.”

“You should have waited for me.”

“You would have drowned.” Chris hikes Victor’s thighs higher up around his hips, then presses a sloppy kiss against Victor’s throat. Victor rumbles happily, deep in his chest, and throws his head back. “And then they would have found you in my room, and I would never skate again.”

Victor has a retort ready on his tongue, but Chris licks up his neck and bites at his jaw and it dissolves into a low, “Nnngg.”

Chris’s hips wiggle a little and he mashes his cheek against Victor’s to get him to turn his head. Victor looks over at the dresser pressed up against the wall and Chris drops wet, open-mouthed kisses along Victor’s neck, down to the collar of his shirt. Victor tries to push Chris away to unbutton it, but he feels clumsy and Chris feels nice and he ends up just petting Chris’s back instead.

Chris laughs, softer now, and pushes himself up onto his hands and knees. Victor’s eyes sweep all the way down, then all the way up, and says, “Nice.”

Chris gives him a dirty smirk, then starts fumbling at Victor’s shirt. He gets two buttons down, and then gets frustrated and tries to rip it open. The stitching holds and the shirt just wrinkles and Victor makes an indignant noise and pushes uselessly against Chris’s chest.

“This is an expensive shirt,” he protests.

“I’ll buy you a new one.” Chris pulls at the buttons again, then curls his fingers into the seams and jerks them hard to the sides.

Two buttons pop; one hits Chris in the face. Victor presses his lips together, then cracks up laughing.

“Stop,” Chris pouts. He undoes the last button and pushes the two halves of the shirt apart, then drops down and plants his face in Victor’s chest. “I did my best.”

“Do you want a medal?” Victor asks, his fingers already threading into Chris’s hair.

Chris bites at Victor’s nipple, which earns another startled yelp and then a soft, shuddery sigh. “If it’s yours.”

“Yakov has it,” Victor mumbles. “If you want, I’ll go and ask him for it, just like this.”

“No, no. You’re mine for now.” Victor shivers and Chris reaches down and grabs two solid handfuls of Victor’s ass and uses them to grind Victor’s hips up. The noise he makes is almost like a growl, and it makes Victor tug harder against his chest.

“Here. Come up here,” Victor pleads. He pulls until Chris does, and then he tugs Chris down again so they can kiss some more. Chris runs his hands over Victor’s chest, dipping between the folds of his shirt to scrape at his ribs. Victor wiggles awkwardly to try to get out of his shirt, but just ends up trapping his arms, and Chris reaches up to shove the tangled mess down and keep Victor still. Victor purrs and relaxes, hugging Chris with his legs instead of his arm, and then gets distracted from kissing and just wraps his body around Chris again. Chris loses his balance and Victor takes the opportunity to drag his shirt the rest of the way off of his arms and throw it off the side of the bed to locations unknown.

“Well, hello there,” Chris says, staring very obviously. “What’s this?”

“Me,” Victor says brightly. “Hello.”

“Hello,” Chris repeats. There’s a slightly dreamy sort of look on his face. He leans down and kisses the tip of Victor’s nose.

“Hello,” Victor says again, and then laughs.

Chris grins, a bright sort of real grin, kind of goofy looking and lacking any sort of seduction. Which, of course, just makes it better, because Victor has two favorite Chrises and one of them is the ridiculous, free, walls down Chris that he sees in hotel rooms and pools and vacations sometimes.

(The other is a fantasy, Chris standing above him, dangling a gold medal out of reach and leering at Victor in silver, and Victor only harbors this fantasy because he knows it will never happen.)

Chris laughs and then kisses him some more, and then starts shoving at Victor’s underwear. Victor arches up to try to help, but then gets interested in other things that are poking against his thigh and then he stops being very helpful at all. He wraps both of his thighs around one of Chris’s and ruts upward, which only traps Victor even more. Chris huffs and blows on Victor’s bangs. Victor throws one arm over his head to shield his forehead and Chris darts away, dragging the underwear down Victor’s thighs with him. He sits up and holds them in the air, says, “Aha!” and then falls off the bed.

Victor scrambles up and peers over the edge. Chris is on his back again, looking entirely forlorn about the whole situation. He holds up the underwear again, then throws it in Victor’s face. Victor makes an undignified noise and nearly jumps off the bed to land on Chris. Chris grunts at the impact and then Victor hooks his arms under Chris’s knees and pushes them up.

“Oh, darling, you move so quickly,” Chris says. He twists his hips a little and Victor bends himself down over Chris again. Chris’s chest is so comfortable and his cock is so hard and Victor would love to just stay here forever and rut against the crease of Chris’s thigh.

“You sweet talker,” Chris teases. He twists his ankles together behind Victor’s back and uses his leverage to drag Victor down and flip them over. Victor lands on his back and scrapes against the carpet and adds _rug burn_ to the list of pleasant souvenirs he’ll get from this year’s Europeans.

“Chris,” Victor whines. “Do me.”

“Victor–”

“Doooo meeeee.”

“I don’t have– anything,” Chris says helplessly. “I do somewhere, but…” He gestures vaguely and buries his face in Victor’s neck. Victor feels Chris’s tongue and lips brush over his skin, and then more teeth and sparkles of rough pleasure. Chris gets so bitey when he’s been drinking and it’s Victor’s favorite.

Chris makes Victor his chew toy for a while, and Victor loves being able to melt into the ground and take it. He rubs against Chris’s hip for a while as Chris drags louder and louder noises out of him. Usually Victor’s better about sound control, but he’s tipsy and sleepy and loose and he doesn’t feel like it, so he lets the hall know exactly who is making him this loud. It's not like people don't know already. Chris sucks a dark bruise into Victor’s shoulder and Victor nearly cries, just from that. It’s so hard to think and it feels so good and he’s sweaty and hot and his cock is sticky between them. It’s gross and base and perfect. Exactly what he needs after a competition.

Chris hefts himself up on one elbow and peers at Victor. His eyesight is terrible from any more than six inches away, so he leans in and he looks at Victor and Victor blinks slowly and looks back. Chris groans. “Je voudrais te baiser toute la nuit."

Victor shudders and nods. "Oui, š'il te plai."

“Pretty when you beg,” Chris notes. He covers Victor’s body with his own and thrusts down against Victor’s stomach and Victor moans as they slide together.

In a neater world, they would be more prepared. In a different competition, this would be happening some other day, on a bed, a condom in Chris’s hand and lube smeared between them. Victor would bury three fingers inside himself and Chris’s face would twist and blank out as he bottomed out and they would fuck each other raw and not even regret it on the plane the next day.

But this isn’t a neater world and even though Victor has had this key card and this standing invitation since before the short program and Chris knew that he was coming, it’s like they’re both caught by surprise. But Victor kind of likes it this way. There’s less pretense. There’s less _ability_ to try. Chris’s eyes are wild in a way he doesn’t usually allow them to get, and Victor thinks that if Chris asked him anything, he wouldn’t be able to lie.

Chris is rolling his hips forward, thrusting his cock against Victor’s hip. It’s leaving a sticky streak that Victor wants to taste, so Chris leans down and licks a line up Victor’s skin and then crushes their mouths together. Chris tastes salty and good and Victor wants to throw him down and suck him off, but he’s not coordinated enough for that yet and the way Chris’s belly is rubbing against the underside of his cock and tugging gently at his foreskin is almost paralyzing in how effortlessly good it feels.

“Do some of the work, Victor,” Chris chides, so Victor gets one knee between Chris’s thighs and guides Chris to sit more in his lap. He rubs against Chris’s balls and guides Chris’s cock against his own. Victor’s plenty wet to help them slide against each other, and he reaches down and gets them both in his hand, even though his fingers have no hope of reaching all the way around. “ _Ah_ , yes. C'est parfait."

“ _Parfait_ ,” Victor repeats back, a bit of a smile on his face. “Hardly.”

“C'est vrai,” Chris insists. “Perfect. All I need.”

“You’ve always been easy,” Victor teases back, but Chris isn’t wrong. This is all he needs too. His body is so loose and relaxed that he could drift straight into an orgasm without even meaning to. Everything smells like sweat and sex and Chris, which are some of Victor’s favorite smells because it means he’s cutting loose. Sex with Chris isn’t quite like sex with anyone else, because Chris has seen Victor through some very low lows and Victor rarely pretends to him anymore.

He doesn’t have to pretend here. It’s easy. It hasn’t always been easy, but now that Chris is twenty-three and a little calmer, now that Victor is twenty-six and so far away that competition isn’t even on their minds anymore, they crash into each other like waves into sand, leaving smoothness behind instead of rubble. Victor has fucked some skaters who didn’t take kindly to losing, who wanted to talk about skating, who fucked him so hard he was sure they were trying to break him from the inside out, but it’s not like that with Chris and Victor is more desperate for those five or six moments a year than he has any business being.

“Nn, Victor, baise moi,” Chris breathes out. He’s panting now, thrusting into Victor’s hand. Victor barely even has to move; Chris is frenetic. “Later tonight, yes?”

“Yes, of course,” Victor agrees. “As much as you want.”

“I want all of it,” Chris says. “All of it. They’ll burn the sheets.”

Victor laughs and moans and tugs Chris down until he’s within kissing range and bites at his lips. His skin feels pleasantly tight and hot and raw. Chris is grinding him into the hotel carpet and Victor knows there’ll be a rash in the morning but he wants it. He wants to take a moment of this with him, so when he’s lying in bed at home in Russia, he can arch his back and feel it again.

Chris reaches around and wraps his arms around the small of Victor’s back. It crushes them together and makes it hard to move, but it’s so close and hot and alive. Victor’s knuckles brush Chris’s stomach and his own and he feels suffocated by how much he needs this. “Chris, I want to–”

“You need it?”

“Yes, I’m going to…”

“Now?”

“No, tomorrow on the plane. Chris!”

Chris laughs shakily. “I have you, it’s alright.” He crushes Victor against him, leaving Victor squirming under Chris’s weight and into his own hand. “Come on, come on, _donne le moi_.”

Victor thrashes around and he does. He rubs his thumb hard against his frenulum and Chris digs his teeth into Victor’s neck and he’s gone. The room spins and wobbles a little as Victor arches and cries out and stoves himself over and over against Chris’s body. Chris holds him through it, rutting against Victor’s body, Victor’s come slicking things up a little for im. Victor slowly lets go, his fingers cramped, and he lays back bonelessly as Chris pins him down and rubs off against the mess on his stomach and adds to it with a short, hoarse yell and a long moan after.

He collapses on Victor instead of to the side like usual and nuzzles his face into the bend of Victor’s neck. “Mm. Your abs are quite the sensational experience.”

“Charmer.” Victor shoves his hair off his forehead. “Are there tissues?”

“You look like this forever,” Chris says.

“Chris,” Victor whines.

“Fine, fine. Je dois tout faire ici.” Chris shimmies down and quickly licks Victor’s belly clean. Victor gifts him with a startled moan, and then a low rumbly purr when Chris lies on top of him. “How long do you need?”

“Before next round? I’m an old man now, Giacometti. I can’t keep up with the kids.”

“So… twenty?”

“Put me down for thirty,” Victor says. Maybe the room will have stopped spinning by then.

“Thirty it is.” Chris arranges his head on Victor’s shoulder like a pillow, closes his eyes, and nearly instantly falls asleep. Victor pokes him, then rolls his eyes and quietly wonders whether or not Chris actually has the right idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm not french and i don't speak french and i've never studied french, so if the french is wrong, my b and also oh well it's not plot relevant anyway. they're into each other.


	2. Day 2: Praise Kink (Yuuri/Phichit)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tags for this chapter: Pre-Canon, Detroit Days, Praise Kink, Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Sex, Masturbation, Communication

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> set a couple years before the start of the show, yuuri is 21 and phichit is 18, having just moved to america about 6 months before

Being friends with Yuuri is a tenuous thing.

It takes Phichit all of his first semester to start unraveling the high strung, anxious, beautifully talented mess that is Yuuri. At first, this is what he knows of Yuuri: he’s Japan’s top skater at age twenty-one, he has a family and a dog back in Japan in one of three remaining hot spring inns in Hasetsu, he has a deep and long-standing hero crush on Victor Nikiforov. He goes to bed late and wakes up late but he rarely misses class, he watches what he eats with a vigilance that Phichit never has, he drinks on Friday nights and gets giggly and plays video games and hangs upside down of the edge of his bed, watching Phichit figure out where to put a hamster cage in their tiny double. Yuuri has good taste in beers and posters and step sequences, and bad taste in music, first-person shooters, and his own abilities.

Phichit likes to think of himself as a positive person. He has moments like everyone else, moments of frustration and anger and the crushing need to give up, when he’s bruised and his feet are bleeding and he slams the side of his fist into the locker room wall because he’s alone and he’s over eight thousand miles from home and no one speaks Thai here so he has to translate his brain into English all the time and it’s _hard_ sometimes. He and Yuuri took a trip to Welcome Mat once, but didn’t stay very long once a representative had tried to offer them pamphlets about citizenship. Phichit doesn’t want to be an American; he just wants to stop feeling quite so out of place in America. Yuuri is the same.

Phichit likes the rink because it’s where he feels at home, and where everyone knows what he’s trying to say. Even when Celestino lectures him and makes him watch tapes of jumps that he’s trying to perfect, they’re speaking a similar language.

It seems like Yuuri doesn’t feel fluent.

It’s not that he’s bad at skating. He’s not. He’s very good. Celestino keeps him on and he wins things, sometimes. A Grand Prix series event here, a Nationals there, a place in Four Continents. And he looks so natural when he slips into a choreographic sequence that sometimes, everyone else at practice stops to watch him for a moment. But when he’s done, he looks dissatisfied.

Phichit has told Yuuri, before, that his skating is beautiful. Yuuri got flustered and refuted it, loudly and repeatedly, until Phichit let it go. But it _was_ beautiful, and Phichit didn’t change his mind.

Yuuri skates in a Michigan state competition and wins gold. Phichit hasn’t been in the country long enough to qualify, but Yuuri has lived here for long enough that he claims Detroit as permanent residence and he enters and he wins. Celestino is proud and sweeps Yuuri into a hug after the podium, and Yuuri teeters a little, like he can’t believe that the little medal around his neck is really there, like he hasn’t won it before.

“Yuuri!” Phichit says when Yuuri is done having his picture taken for the papers. “That was great!”  
“I flubbed that triple loop,” Yuuri says. He already looks a little anxious, like the win is already wearing off.

“Yeah,” Phichit says. “You did. Maybe a minus one G.O.E. if I had to guess.”

Yuuri bows his head a little.

“The other parts were good, though, Yuuri,” Phichit says. “Your triple axel was gorgeous. Tighten up that triple loop and you’ll be crushing in the Grand Prix for sure.”

Yuuri glances up at him, and a small, shy, but very _there_ smile spreads across his face. He moves his arms a couple inches from his body, and then lets them fall again, like he doesn’t know what to do with them. But Phichit gets it, so he hugs Yuuri too, tight and grounding, helping remind Yuuri that he’s not still in the air. Yuuri sighs in relief and tucks his nose against Phichit’s neck.

“Thanks,” he murmurs against Phichit’s hoodie. “It felt pretty good.”

Yuuri shoots Phichit down a lot less after that. Phichit didn’t get it for a while, and then he did. Yuuri knew that Phichit would tell him if something was bad, so it was only now that he believed that Phichit meant it when he said something was good. Phichit feels like an idiot for not realizing it before. He doesn’t like to be too negative with Yuuri, because it stresses Yuuri out, but so does lying. So Phichit is honest, and sometimes it’s not so nice, which is not in his nature, but it means that when Yuuri does something incredible, Phichit can let him know.

Yuuri stands on the scale in their bathroom before a shower. Phichit is brushing his teeth, because Yuuri, for all his hangups, doesn’t care about being naked in front of pretty much anyone.

“I think Celestino is going to adjust our diet plans,” Yuuri murmurs. “Everyone gained weight over Christmas and Nationals.”

“Celestino hates fun,” Phichit says, and spits. “You look good.”

“Oh,” Yuuri says, and flushes. He steps off the scale. Phichit hands him his towel from the cabinet under the sink and Yuuri hangs it on the hook by their little shower.

“You know that, Yuuri,” Phichit adds. He ducks down to rinse his mouth out, spits again, and dries his hands. “If things are impacting your jumps, fix them. Obviously. But you look real good to me.”

“Oh,” Yuuri says again, a little pinker. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“Of course I am.” Phichit smiles at Yuuri and nudges his shoulder. “Good practice today, too.”

“Thanks,” Yuuri says. “It was good to get back on the ice.”

“Yeah it was. Good to be back on with you. Just keep working on that toe loop. It’s good motivation for me.”

That makes Yuuri grin, and he pushes Phichit gently in the chest. “Get out of here.”

“Yes, sir.” Phichit grins and makes his retreat. He goes back into their room and flops onto the bed, hiding his face in his pillow so he doesn’t think too hard about the way Yuuri’s chest flushed pink.

  
  


When Yuuri gets tired and cranky and stressed and needs the weight of a person next to him more than he hates the idea of asking for it, they throw all their blankets on the floor between their beds like a nest. Phichit had crawled into Yuuri’s bed one night and fallen out of it in his sleep, and then he had crawled back in and fallen back out because twin beds aren’t big enough for anyone, let alone two people. So they pile comforters and blankets and sheets on the ground until there are enough layers to be comfortable, and then Yuuri lies down and arranges Phichit on top of him to whatever specifications he needs. Phichit can fall asleep standing up on ice skates, so he doesn’t mind, and Yuuri is very comfy wherever he puts Phichit.

Phichit rests his head on Yuuri’s shoulder, brushing the tip of his nose against Yuuri’s throat. Yuuri’s not wearing glasses, but his eyes are open, staring up at the blurry ceiling. There used to be a poster of Victor up there, secured with tape instead of tacks, but it got unstuck and fell down in the middle of the night onto Yuuri’s face and Yuuri screamed and broke a lamp. Now there are just four little sticky spots and an overhead light that’s been off for hours. They tried to go to bed at ten, and it’s one now, and Yuuri can’t sleep, so Phichit won’t either.

“Talk?” Yuuri asks softly.

“What?”

“Talk to me? It’s all loud right now.”

“Oh, okay.” Phichit shifts himself into a more comfortable position, his forehead pressed against Yuuri’s jaw. “You’re soft. It’s really comfortable.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I love that you need me to lay on top of you. It’s actually super ideal for me.”

He feels Yuuri’s skin move has he smiles. “I live to serve.”

“Lucky me. You feel really nice.”

“Oh,” Yuuri says.

“Why’d you say that?”

“What?”

“You always sound so surprised,” Phichit says. “Like you weren’t expecting me to say something nice about you.”

“No, no, it’s just…” Yuuri trails off. “It’s nice. I like it.”

Phichit’s heart suddenly feels a little lighter. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. It never feels… Prompted,” Yuuri says. “Like I was upset and you were saying it trying to make me feel better. It feels like you mean it.”

“Because I do mean it,” Phichit tells him. “And if I didn’t mean it, I wouldn’t say it, but I do.”

“I know.” Yuuri’s arm comes around Phichit’s and wraps around his back. It settles low around Phichit’s waist.

That’s that for a little while. They spend a few minutes in quiet. Yuuri’s fingers trace absent lines over Phichit’s back; Phichit doubts Yuuri knows he’s doing it. He’s almost afraid to move, in case it breaks the honest little bubble they’ve found themselves in.

“Phichit,” Yuuri says, very quietly.

“Yeah?”

“I, um. I really like it. When you say nice things about me.”

“I know.”

“No, I mean I really like it.”

Phichit is quiet for a moment, and then says, “Oh.”

He can practically feel Yuuri’s face getting hot against his forehead. “But you have to tell me if that’s weird. Because I trust you, that if you think it’s weird, you’ll tell me.” Yuuri’s voice has the tiniest shake to it. Phichit can feel it more than he can hear it.

Phichit swallows. He shifts his forehead against Yuuri’s jaw. He feels warm. “I don’t think it’s weird.”

Yuuri lets out a breath that Phichit didn’t realize he’d been holding. “Okay. Okay. Good.”

“I think it’s nice,” Phichit continues. “I… I like it.”

Yuuri says, “Oh,” again.

“Is that why you say that?” Phichit asks. “Because you like it?”

“It’s like a little…” Yuuri makes a vague gesture with his free hand, then covers his eyes with it. “Like a little shock to my body.”

“Because you like it?” Phichit asks again.

“And because I believe it.”

That makes Phichit smile. “Well, I’ll keep saying them, then. ‘Cause it’s all true.”

Yuuri’s arm squeezes Phichit. They’re quiet for a few more minutes. Phichit checks in with himself to make sure he actually doesn’t think it’s weird, and he doesn’t. He still feels hot.

Yuuri clears his throat. Opens his mouth. Closes his mouth. Sniffs. Opens it again.

“Um… Can you?” he starts, and then finishes, and there doesn’t seem to be more to the question, but Phichit doesn’t need more. He understands.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “I can do that.” He puts his hand on Yuuri’s chest, fingers touching his right collarbone. Even on the wrong side, it seems like he can feel Yuuri’s heart slamming against his palm. “You feel so good, Yuuri.”

Yuuri doesn’t say _oh_ again. Phichit thinks it’s probably because he’s ready for it. There’s the shortest tensing of his body though, and he swallows again. Just that seems to be having an effect.

Phichit takes that as encouragement. “You’re really, um. Really soft and comfortable, but also really solid, ‘cause of all the crunches Coach makes us do. And you just feel really good to touch. I don’t like it when you make the blanket nest on the ground, because it means you’re stressed and feeling bad, but I also do like it, because I get to lie on you and it feels good to touch you.”

Yuuri’s eyes are closed, but his breath is coming a bit faster. Phichit can hear it in his ear like a plane engine. His skin feels like it’s tingling, everywhere Yuuri is touching him, even where there are layers between them.

“I like touching you too,” Yuuri admits softly. “You’re not really soft, but you’re solid. ‘Cause of the crunches.”

“‘Cause of the crunches,” Phichit agrees. He runs his hand down Yuuri’s chest, down to his ribs, and then back up. “I know what you’re hiding under this t-shirt.”

“Do you like it?” Yuuri asks. He’s breathless. It’s incredibly gratifying.

“Yeah. I do. I like how you like to show off, because then I get to look at you,” Phichit says. “For an appropriate, not weird amount of time.”

Yuuri huffs out a laugh. “You could look for longer,” he says, and then gets quiet again. “I kinda like it when you look, too.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Because I know you wanna.”

“I do.” He does. Phichit likes looking at Yuuri when he’s stretching, and when he’s arched over in ridiculous transitional moves on the ice, and when he’s showering in the locker room, and when he’s hungover on Saturdays and his shirt never makes it all the way down his hips. Hell, he likes looking at Yuuri when it’s snowing and negative degrees out, because Yuuri’s face gets all flushed and he gets a little crinkle over his nose and he makes steam clouds when he laughs. “I think you’re beautiful.”

Yuuri says, “Oh,” but it’s more like, “Ah,” like a startled little noise he can’t keep in. Like a breath of a moan, like a physical touch, like Phichit had done anything other than tell the truth.

“I do,” Phichit murmurs. “I look at you because you’re talented, obviously, but you’re also just so pretty, Yuuri.”

Yuuri definitely says, “Ah.” Phichit feels it, deep in his guts. “Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

“Uh huh. Don’t– yeah. Keep.”

It almost makes Phichit sad, watching Yuuri try to ask for more. He’s so close to having what he wants, but the last hurdle is the hardest. When he finally raises his head a little, Yuuri is quite red, a few strands of hair stuck to his forehead from sweat. Phichit hadn’t realized he was sweating.

“You want more?” Phichit asks, freeing Yuuri from the burden of having to ask. Yuuri nods, bites his lip. Looks away, looks back. Pleads with his eyes in a way that Phichit only sees him do to mirrors and pixelated cell phone videos.

Phichit sits up. Yuuri is still lying on his back, with a red face and dark eyes, and he opens his mouth to protest or start apologizing or swallow himself whole. But Phichit just sits crosslegged at Yuuri’s side so he can see him better, and he places his hand in the middle of Yuuri’s chest and feels Yuuri’s heartbeat hammering against his ribs and how much Yuuri needs this. How much Yuuri didn’t know he needed it, and how much he wants it, now that it’s close enough to take.

“My favorite,” Phichit says, “is when you shower at home instead of at the rink, and you come out to tell me it’s my turn and you’re rubbing your hair with your towel. Because you have no modesty ever, and your chest gets flushed when you’re warm and your skin looks like it tastes good.”

Yuuri’s eyes are wide, frantic, and the noise he makes is a moan now. No hiding, no pretending or disguising. Phichit speaks and Yuuri moans, because it’s exactly what he needs.

“Do you do it on purpose? Because you know I like to look at you? Or did you not know?”

Yuuri shrugs one shoulder in a terrible attempt at nonchalance. “I didn’t– I don’t. I don’t know.”

“That’s okay,” Phichit says. “Now you do know.” He trails his hand down Yuuri’s chest to the hem of his shirt, flicks at it with his thumb, lets it run back up. Yuuri makes a frustrated sound.

“Phichit.”

“I want to kiss you,” Phichit says, admits to himself. It’s something he’s known, but tried not to dwell on too much, because he likes having Yuuri for a roommate and a best friend and he has to keep living here for a while. “But not tonight.”

“What–” Yuuri says.

“I want to talk about it first, you know? I want us to know what we’re doing when we do that.”

Yuuri relaxes a little. He heard the _when_ and not the _if_ it could have been. “I want to kiss you too.”

“I’m glad,” Phichit says honestly. He falters, then presses on, because someone needs to be in charge and it doesn’t look like it’s going to be Yuuri. “Whatever happens tonight happens, but. Tomorrow we can go make coffee and talk about it, and then I can kiss you. Once we’ve talked about it.”

Yuuri nods slowly. He reaches one hand down, slowly, like Phichit is the spooked animal in this situation and not him. He drops his hand on Phichit’s thigh; his palm is hot through Phichit’s sweatpants. His eyes are wide as they watch for any sort of reaction on Phichit’s face, pupils wide even in the dark. His lips are slightly parted, slightly wet, the edges of his teeth just visible between them.

Phichit hates being a mature adult. But he manages.

“I still want to tell you, though,” Phichit adds. “That you’re good.”

“If you–” Yuuri starts, then stops. His brows furrow a little. “I don’t… want to like it too much in front of you. If you don’t want to…”

“Whatever happens tonight happens,” Phichit repeats. “Maybe you can… you can take care of it yourself. And then I can take care of it later.”

Yuuri’s breath hitches, which Phichit can see as well as hear because Yuuri’s wearing a tight training shirt and it’s stretched pretty nicely over his chest. He moves his hand back to Yuuri’s sternum, wrinkling the fabric a little. Yuuri is trembling under him, so minutely that Phichit thinks it might be himself.

“You’re amazing,” he tells Yuuri. His voice is softer - less confident, more honest. Rawer than Phichit means to, but it’s too late now. “I promise you, you’re amazing.”

Yuuri’s eyes close and he groans softly though his teeth. The hand on Phichit’s thigh strokes along Phichit’s leg, a couple inches at a time; the other one curls into the blankets they’re lying on top of.

“Go ahead,” Phichit prompts. “It’s not the first time I’ve seen you do it. Not the last, either.”

Yuuri laughs softly and nods and rubs at his own thigh vigorously. Then he lets his palm drift over the front of his shorts and he presses down with a hiss. Phichit hadn’t seen that he was hard, but maybe the shorts were just good at hiding it.

“Phichit,” Yuuri murmurs, a quiet plea.

“You’re an amazing skater,” Phichit says. His thumb strokes over Yuuri’s shirt. Close to his nipple, but not quite. Not yet. “Especially in choreo. When you jump, you’re a good skater, but when you’re doing your step sequences… It’s like I’m watching you fly. Like you’re water that’s not frozen yet. It’s beautiful.”

Yuuri takes a great, shuddering breath. His nails are digging into Phichit’s thigh. His own legs are bent apart a little, and he makes the tiniest grinding motions against his hand. Phichit doesn’t want to stare too much, except that he does, but he controls himself. He sees the way Yuuri’s fingers curl around the outline of a cock out of the corner of his eye and he _wants_ but he can wait.

“This is hot,” he blurts out. “By the way. You touching yourself.”

Yuuri blushes violently. His eyes dart down to Phichit’s lap, and then back up, and then away, guiltily, when he realized how he wasn’t subtle about it.

“I’m not, right now,” Phichit clarifies for him. “But if I was touching you… I mean, it wouldn’t be hard.”

Yuuri snorts.

“Difficult. It wouldn’t be difficult. Jerk.”

That makes Yuuri smile, and he relaxes more. He lets go of his cock to reach for the drawstring of his shorts - Phichit looks. He can’t help it. It’s a good shaped cock - and tugs it loose, then shoves his hand down into his underwear and chokes on his own breath. They both freeze for a second, but then Yuuri’s fist moves in his shorts and Phichit lets out a little breath of relief.

“That’s so hot, Yuuri, really. I, like– I like I can make you feel good like that. That’s really hot too.”

“Yeah?” Yuuri breathes. His hand is moving pretty evenly and it’s killing Phichit not to watch.

“Yeah. This is like prime fantasy material right now, but it’s real, so it’s better.”

“You can–”

“I don’t want to. I kind of just want to look at you.”

That earns another moan, a hip stutter, a desperate noise in the back of Yuuri’s throat. Whether he means to or not is up for debate, but he rolls his head back and shows off his throat, which is tremendously unfair. Phichit bites his tongue, then imagine biting Yuuri’s, and shifts his legs so that Yuuri won’t pay attention to any new situations that might arise.

“Yeah, that’s really good, Yuuri. You’re a little bit of an exhibitionist, you know?”

“Am not,” Yuuri says, lying.

“Yes you are. It’s okay, me too. You have to be, when you’re a skater. But you like it a little bit more than most. Lucky me. That means I get to watch.”

Yuuri nods. He lets his eyes close. His eyelashes are dark and beautiful against his skin, only highlighted by the way his blush is sliding down his face onto his neck and into his shirt. Phichit wants to lick it, and he tells Yuuri as much.

“I want that too,” Yuuri whispers.

“I’ll do it tomorrow, I promise,” Phichit says. “Can you just touch yourself for me now, though?”

Yuuri nods clumsily and squeezes Phichit’s thigh, then touches his hand to his own cheek. His fingers dig in a little, and then trail down to his neck, down to his shirt, tugging at the collar. He shows off one collarbone, which Phichit would absolutely love to bite right now, and then lets the shirt collar snap back up.

“Tease. I was looking at that.”

“I know,” Yuuri says. He sounds pleased, or as pleased as someone’s breathless, strained voice can sound.

“Yeah. You do. You know you’re hot stuff,” Phichit teases. “Really really hot stuff. Kinda makes me mad, how hot you are sometimes.”

“Sometimes?”

“Well, you’re not super hot when you’re puking in the bathroom,” Phichit points out. “Or when you don’t make coffee in the morning and leave me to die. But otherwise…”

Yuuri’s hips do a roll that’s so perfectly choreographed that Phichit would almost swear it was fake.

“When you come,” Phichit says. “I’m gonna look at your face. And it’s going to be hard, because I’m kind of really into what you’ve got going on in your shorts too. But your face is going to be so gorgeous when you come, and I’d hate myself if I gave up the opportunity to look at it.”

“Phichit–” Yuuri chokes out. His back is arching a little. Phichit can see, every couple seconds, the head of a cock poking just past the waistband of Yuuri’s shorts. It looks flushed, and wet, and like something Phichit would like to put in his hand or his mouth.

He tells Yuuri so.

Yuuri closes his eyes, opens his mouth, shudders, and comes.

It’s like a rolling shock wave, originating in his hips and moving outwards. He thrusts up into his hand, and wet, half-trapped trails of come make it past the waistband and roll along Yuuri’s wrists. Yuuri’s heels dig into the ground, and then his knees jerk and one leg kicks out. His torso twists toward Phichit, and then his face twists and he lets out the softest, most beautiful cry, and then a louder one, and then, miraculously, Phichit’s name, choked out around not enough air and too much sensation. Phichit pets Yuuri’s chest, which is hot and damp and full of racing heartbeats and heavy breathing and too much emotion.

When Yuuri comes down, he doesn’t even seem embarrassed. He throws an arm over his eyes, still panting softly, and says something in Japanese that’s probably a curse word. Phichit watches, unmoving, as Yuuri knits himself back together, and then he moves the arm over his face to peer at Phichit.

“Goddamn,” Phichit says.

Yuuri’s eyes crinkle, and then he laughs.

Phichit smiles, and then he gets up and reaches for the tissue box on Yuuri’s bookcase. He drops it on Yuuri’s chest, and Yuuri tugs out a couple of tissues and starts wiping at the mess that’s starting to sink into his shirt.

“Well. That was life changing, probably,” Phichit declares as he sits down. “You’ve ruined me for other boys.”

“I didn’t even touch you,” Yuuri points out.

“Yeah, imagine how great it’s gonna be when you do.”

“I was,” Yuuri says, and then blushes again. Clearly he hadn’t meant to say that.

The embers that have been burning quietly in Phichit’s belly for the last ten minutes flare. He ignores them. His own erection is probably pretty visible through his sweatpants, but he wants to let it be for now.

“That’s pretty awesome,” he says instead. “And, like, triply hot over what it already was, which was already really hot. You’re basically burning a hole in my sheets right now.”  
Yuuri is still pink, but he’s laughing again. His body is loose, like not having that secret anymore has taken weights off of each joint. He throws his wad of tissues in the trash, then holds out his arm, and Phichit settles against his chest again, even as he looks disdainfully at Yuuri’s shirt.

“You’re gonna have come stains on your shirt if you leave it on.”  
Yuuri shrugs. “Worse things have happened. Need you now.”

That makes a different part of Phichit feel warm. He nuzzles against Yuuri’s neck and Yuuri makes a low, rumbling noise. Yuuri lets him settle and doesn’t comment about the way Phichit’s almost certainly pressing an erection against his thigh. It’ll go down, and be even sweeter when they come back to it tomorrow.

“You’re pretty great too, you know,” Yuuri mumbles. He sounds much sleepier than before.

“I know,” Phichit says. “Thank you.”

“You’re hot, an’ all the stuff you said.”

“Go to sleep, Yuuri.”

“Mmn,” Yuuri complains, but he doesn’t even open his eyes to do it. Phichit reaches over Yuuri and folds an edge of a blanket around them, then settles back against Yuuri’s chest. He listens to Yuuri breathing, smiles when Yuuri squeezes him gently, and lets his own eyes fall closed when Yuuri finally falls asleep.


	3. Day 3: Loud Sex (Yuuri/Victor)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tags for this chapter: Post-Canon, Loud Sex, Riding, Anal Sex, Power Bottom Katsuki Yuuri, Masturbation, Banter, God They're So Married

Victor hums to himself and steps over Makkachin on the way to the refrigerator. He ducks down and pulls a few eggs out of a side drawer, then brings them back and cracks them into a pan to scramble them. Makkachin gets up and stretches, then trots over to Victor and butts his head against Victor’s knee. Victor reaches down and scratches behind his ears, then stands up again and turns the gas on. The burner flame sparks to life and immediately starts cooking the eggs.

Victor leans against the counter for a moment, then digs some shredded cheese and leftover diced steak out of another drawer. He carefully flips the egg over in the pan and piles the cheese and steak high in it. Makkachin whines and paws at Victor’s thigh.

“What is it?” Victor murmurs. “I already fed you.”

He crouches down to pet Makkachin and Makkachin leans in and tugs at Victor’s shirt with his mouth. Victor pushes his face lightly and smooths it back down.

“What? You need to go out?” Makkachin turns his face toward the hall. Victor glances back, then shakes his head. “Yuuri is napping. Don’t bother him.” Makkachin barks. Victor catches his jaw lightly. “No. Shush. We don’t want to wake him up.”

He can smell the cheese now, so he stands up again, brushes dog fur off his hands, and flips over the edges of the omelette. A bit of melted cheese oozes out the sides and Victor’s stomach growls. He scoops it up onto a plate, kills the flame, and takes it back to the living room with a fork. He plops down on the couch, tucking himself into the corner, and cuts himself a bite.

It takes Victor a moment to realize that something seems off. He hears a soft noise every now and then, but it’s not loud enough to tell what it is. Victor cranes his head over the edge of the couch to see if Makkachin is eating something that he shouldn’t be, but he’s lying on his bed, one leg out, preparing for a nap. Victor frowns, but shrugs and takes another bite.

He hears the sound again, louder this time. It sounds like a muffled sigh. Victor pauses with the fork halfway from his mouth to the plate. It’s definitely not Makkachin; Makkachin huffs like he’s annoyed, like the world has personally done him wrong. This sigh is more satisfied.

Victor blames it on the stove.

He eats, but he keeps his ears perked, until he hears it again, coupled with a low noise. The breath is the same, long and satisfied, but the noise is more urgent. It sounds almost like…

It sounds kind of like a moan. Victor wonders briefly if Yuuri is having a nightmare. He has bad dreams sometimes, but he only ever gets twitchy. Yuuri doesn’t make noise in his sleep; he doesn’t even snore. Victor is silent for a moment, and then sets his fork down just in time to hear the noise again.

That’s a moan. That’s definitely a moan. Victor reaches up and covers his mouth and nose with his hand to make himself as quiet as possible. His heart feels like it’s sped up double time, because now he knows that Yuuri is definitely not taking a nap.

Yuuri moans again, longer and louder than before. It’s low and drawn out, like he’s really taking his time with… whatever he’s doing. Victor can’t exactly hear the bed shaking, but he can tell that Yuuri’s getting into it. The next moan is higher pitched, more frantic, and then trails off into something gravelly and rough. A sharp breath, loud enough that Victor can hear it through the door, another low groan.

Victor looks down at the half-finished omelette in his lap. He thinks that maybe he should probably finish it before it gets cold and disgusting. He swallows hard and glances in the direction of the bedroom again, but Yuuri doesn’t make another sound right away, so Victor picks up his fork again and cuts out a bite.

When he starts chewing, though, Yuuri moans again, loudly. It’s clearer than any of the others, like it’s coming deep out of his chest. Another one follows it, and then a third, faster one, and then a beat of silence, and then a whimper.

Victor drops his fork.

His entire body is frozen. He swallows again and Yuuri keens. Victor could swear he hears the sound of something slick and repetitive, but he’s not quite sure exactly what it is. He wishes it were him, working his fist around Yuuri’s cock or thrusting into him or swallowing him down or–

“Ah, _Victor_ ,” Yuuri whines. “Victooor.”

Victor’s eyes get wide. He waits, but Yuuri doesn’t appear in the doorway. Maybe he doesn’t even know Victor can hear him. Victor doesn’t know what Yuuri could think Victor was doing - maybe he expected Victor to fall asleep on the couch or take Makkachin out again. Either way, he’s not bothering to try to hide anything.

The front of Victor’s pants are unpleasantly tight.

“God, Victor, please,” Yuuri moans. Victor quietly moves his plate to the coffee table and buries his face in his hands. “ _Ahhh_ , oh,  _fuck_ …”

Yuuri’s voice is echoing faintly against Victor’s wood floors. It feels so illicit to hear Yuuri like this, almost like he shouldn’t be. Victor wouldn’t expect Yuuri to moan someone else’s name, but Victor’s never been particularly verbal alone, and he’s a little surprise that Yuuri is, having grown up in an inn surrounded by other people.

Yuuri groans, and then cries out loudly. The cry cuts itself off with a sharp gasp, and then a, “Yes, yes, fuuuck,” that Victor can’t deal with. He closes his eyes and grits his teeth and shoves one hand down the front of his pants, curling his fingers around himself. God, Yuuri always sounds so good, and he’s not holding back at all right now. It took so long for Victor to convince Yuuri to relax, that he _liked_ the way Yuuri sounded when he was getting fucked, that Yuuri didn’t need to keep a hand over his mouth when it could be doing far more useful things. Victor’s mind drifts to those useful things and he shivers all over. Yuuri is so good at reading Victor these days - he always knows exactly how to touch Victor.

Yuuri whimpers some more, curses in English and even in Russian - Victor bites his own lip at that, digging his teeth in until it aches at the way Yuuri’s accent forms the words. He leans back against the couch, one arm over his face, the other working his cock in tiny increments, trapped by the fact that he didn’t even bother to unzip his pants. He feels sweaty around every edge, frantic and trapped and desperate to hear more. He wants to feel Yuuri under him, to stroke his hands over Yuuri’s skin and dig his nails in and–

“You’re the worst,” Yuuri says, from suddenly very close.

Victor’s eyes snap open and he sits bolt upright, nearly losing his balance. Yuuri is standing in front of the couch, naked and hard and sweaty, a condom and a bottle of lube in one hand and an annoyed expression on his face.

“I– what?”

“I’ve been in there for _fifteen minutes_ trying to get you to come in,” Yuuri says. “And you’re just out here!”

“I. What,” Victor says. His brain is not moving fast enough to catch up.

“You think I was just _doing that_?” Yuuri tosses the condom at Victor. It lands on his chest and bounces onto the couch. “I don’t even know what those Russian words were, I looked them up on my phone.”

Victor gapes at him.

“You’re the _worst_ ,” Yuuri repeats, pained, and then he’s striding forward and climbing into Victor’s lap. Victor is very startled, but not so much that he doesn’t wrap his arms around Yuuri's back when Yuuri starts kissing him. Yuuri’s fingers wind through Victor’s hair, aggressive, tugging Victor where he wants him. He bites into Victor’s mouth and rocks in Victor’s lap, then pulls back to start finally undoing Victor’s pants.

“Why didn’t you call for me?” Victor asks.

“I _did_ call for you.”

“You should have just come out and said you wanted sex.”

“I was trying to be seductive,” Yuuri grumbles. He unzips Victor’s pants and tugs them down around Victor’s thighs. He gets a hold of Victor’s cock and his grip is tight but his hand is already warm and a little wet and Victor grunts and bucks up a little at the thought of why.

“You don’t need to seduce me if you want to have sex.”

“Apparently I don’t.” Yuuri leans in again and starts mouthing at Victor’s neck. Victor makes a reedy little _hmnng_ sound and drops his head back against the edge of the couch again. Yuuri kisses Victor’s throat, bites gently, and sucks a little bruise there, then reaches back behind himself for the condom.

“Mmn,” Victor says helpfully. He lifts the hem of his shirt out of the way so Yuuri can quickly roll the condom down, and then Yuuri grabs the lube and squeezes some straight onto Victor’s cock. He starts jerking Victor off again, faster now that it’s easier, and Victor shudders violently and reaches for Yuuri again. He tries to kiss Yuuri and misses, getting Yuuri’s nose instead, and Yuuri snorts in laughter.

“You’re the worst,” he says again.

“So you’ve said, and here you are,” Victor replies wryly.

Yuuri huffs. “I have to do every single thing.” He reaches between his thighs and - Victor’s eyes get wide again - sinks three fingers straight into himself with a satisfied groan. “ _Ah_ , yes, mmm. Fuck, you’re so much better than my fingers.”

“You could have just come out,” Victor says helplessly.

“ _You_ could have just come _in_ ,” Yuuri replies thinly.

“You shouldn’t have put the condom on if you wanted that.”

“Go– _o_ _d_ , I changed my mind, you’re the double worst.” Yuuri climbs out of Victor’s lap. Victor is about to protest and reach out, but Yuuri is just turning around, sitting himself back in Victor’s lap, reaching behind himself to position Victor’s cock, and then sinking down onto it.

Victor’s moan is punched out of him, and he wraps his arms around Yuuri’s waist again and tugs him back. “Ah, you’re so ready for me already. God, you feel so good.”

“I had time to kill,” Yuuri says through gritted teeth. He has one foot on the couch and the other planted on the floor, and he rolls his hips slowly to get his bearings. “Yeah, that’s so much better. Vitya…”

Victor pants and kisses Yuuri’s shoulder blade. Yuuri’s sweaty here too, so Victor licks along his shoulder and his neck to taste it. Everything smells musky and tastes salty the way Yuuri always does when he’s aroused. Victor wants to rub it into his skin, to cover his clothes with it, to be surrounded by it always.

“You sounded so good,” he mumbles against Yuuri’s throat as Yuuri works his hips. He’s doing a stuttery sort of circle, which feels amazing more for its imperfections than anything else. When Victor reaches down, Yuuri’s cock is leaking profusely already, and Yuuri yelps when Victor gives it a good hard stroke. “You know I love to listen to you.”

“I heard that somewhere,” Yuuri pants. He moves his foot to the coffee table, which gives him better leverage, and Victor abruptly sinks a little deeper. Victor gasps and Yuuri cries out again, throwing his head back and nearly missing Victor’s face.

“Yes, like that,” Victor says. He grips Yuuri’s hips now and helps him rise up again, then jerks him back down. The same noise is forced out of Yuuri, sharp and frantic, and Victor desperately wants to hear that noise forever. “Just like that.”

Yuuri doesn’t reply; he gets his hands braced on the couch, and then he rolls his hips up and fucks himself down, and then again, hunting for a good rhythm. Victor gasps and chokes on Yuuri’s name and Yuuri trips over Victor’s and drops his chin forward against his chest. He’s panting hard now, his breath loud and tinged with whines, but he’s not as loud as Victor wants. Now that he’s gotten a taste, Victor has a craving.

To say he _lets_ Yuuri ride him isn’t quite correct, because Victor is quietly and quickly losing his mind. He runs his hands all over Yuuri’s back and belly and tugs at his cock and sucks at his skin. Yuuri makes him mindless with need, a creature of desire, a mess of raw skin and sparkling nerve endings. Yuuri is beautiful when he’s sweaty and messy and falling apart, and Victor tells him so, and it only makes Yuuri fuck him harder. But when Yuuri’s concentrating, he gets quiet and focused, and right now, Victor wants him to scream.

He grabs Yuuri around the waist and pulls him up and over to the couch. Yuuri yells, a panicked yell more than a sexy one, and grabs the edges of the couch when Victor gets him on his knees and elbows on the cushions. He pulls out quickly - Yuuri hisses - to get up on his knees behind Yuuri, and then eases himself back in with a long, hissed _yesss_ and a sharp snap to bottom out.

“Ahhh,” Yuuri breathes. “Yeah, Victor, yes.”

“Is this what you wanted?” Victor asks. He reaches under Yuuri to give his cock a couple quick strokes.

“You know I want you every way,” Yuuri groans. He turns his head so he can breathe better and arches his back, which Victor thinks is tremendously unfair. He bends himself over Yuuri, their bodies fitting together neatly, and curls his fingers into the hollows of Yuuri’s hips so that his nails bite into Yuuri’s skin.

“Sing for me, my Yuuri,” Victor murmurs in Yuuri’s ear. “You don’t know what you do to me.”

He draws out and slams himself back in, and he’s not disappointed. Yuuri’s cry is sharp and raw and definitely real. Victor’s not convinced the ones from the bedroom were fake, but these are noises that they can only draw out together, ones that Yuuri needs two people to find. Victor’s got pent up energy now from listening, so he hauls Yuuri backwards again and again. Yuuri grabs onto the arm of the couch and uses it to push himself back in counterpoint, forcing Victor deep into him with every thrust. He’s half muffled by his arm, now, but there’s no mistaking his sharp moans, cut off by his breath every time Victor drives him into the couch and cuts his air for half a second.

Yuuri spreads his legs a little wider and forces himself up onto his hands and knees. He arches again and looks over his shoulder. Victor is expecting seductive, alluring Yuuri, but instead, fierce, wild, demanding Yuuri looks back at him, a blush smeared across his cheeks and determination written all over his face.

“Harder,” he demands, then lets his head fall again. “I want it harder.”

Victor bites his lip and he nods. He lets go of Yuuri’s hips to grab his shoulders instead, and that lets him really haul Yuuri back. Yuuri nearly wails the first time Victor gets a perfectly angled thrust in, and after that, he refuses to shut up.

“Yes, Victor right there – _ah!_ – right there, right there, come on – _fuck!_ – harder, harder, harder, Victor - _Victor, Victor, Victor!_ ” Yuuri claws at the couch and whines and pants out heavy, sobbing breaths, and bleeds out demands that Victor is helpless to do anything but follow. “Come on, touch me, I want your hand,” he orders, and Victor clumsily catches Yuuri’s cock again and starts stroking him off as fast as he can. It’s not even, and his thrusts stutter, now that he doesn’t have two solid grips on Yuuri to pull him back, but the extra touch is what Yuuri needs. The orders turn into pleas, and the pleas turn into loud, formless moans. Yuuri collapses back onto his elbows when his arms give out and howls into the couch cushion. The sound races through Victor’s body like jagged lightning, breaking him into a thousand parts that all live to make that sound happen as often as possible.

Yuuri reaches blindly under himself and his hand closes around Victor’s. They clumsily jerk him off together, and Victor’s movements lose all rhythm. There’s too much to think about to be able to move smoothly, not that Yuuri cares. He’s panting out formless noises now, demanding _more_ and _more_ and _faster_ and _oh god Victor yes Victor yesss_.

“Come on, come on, come on,” Yuuri chants. He clenches around Victor and Victor falters and scrapes his teeth over Yuuri’s shoulder blade. “Come on, come in me, I waited for you, come _on_ I want it I want it I want it–”

It’s the desperation more than the words that really set Victor off. He loves to hear Yuuri beg and demand and boss Victor around, but it breaks him when Yuuri can’t control himself anymore for the pleasure wracking through his body. Yuuri is shaking hard and his voice is a broken, hoarse thing that he forces louder and louder so he never has to stop. Victor drowns in how much need Yuuri allows him to see. He would give Yuuri anything.

Yuuri feels him coming and he babbles out praises and whimpers and frantic moans. He urges Victor on and Victor is starting to get entirely overstimulated as pleasure washes through him and up his insides and back down again, dragging him with it. He’s shaking now too, his body is hot, he’s liquid on the inside and barely held together on the outside, cracks taped together with the sounds that Yuuri makes when Victor’s hand finally brings him over the edge. Yuuri's breath catches like a sob, and cries are ripped out of him one by one, getting louder and louder until there’s nothing else in any of Victor’s senses. Victor makes himself still, everywhere except for the hand moving under Yuuri’s belly, and lets the sound break over him like waves, running down his spine until it turns into heavy breathing and Yuuri collapses bonelessly against the couch.

He tugs himself free from Victor and winces, and Victor brushes his knuckles down the small of Yuuri’s back before the carefully slides the condom off. He glances around, then shrugs and drops it on top of the half eaten omelette, which is wholly unappetizing now anyway.

“Come here,” Yuuri mumbles, groping behind himself until Victor pulls his now lube-soaked pants up and drapes himself on top of Yuuri. “Mm. Yes.”

“Is this comfortable?”

“Little wet.”

“We’re going to have to get the couch reupholstered.”

“If you’d just come into the bedroom like I was _trying_ to get you to do…”

“I’m terribly, terribly sorry,” Victor says. He clasps Yuuri’s hand dramatically and brings it to his lips. “Can you ever forgive me?”

Yuuri giggles. Victor smiles - Yuuri must be pretty out of it if he’s giggling. “Carry me to bed and we’ll call it even.”

“You drive a difficult bargain,” Victor teases, but after another fifteen minutes of bonelessness, he convinces his limbs to agree.


	4. Day 4: Piercings/Tattoos (Yuuri/Victor)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tags for this chapter: Detroit Days, Pre-Canon, Nipple Piercings, Tattoos, Phichit Is a Good Friend, Post-Canon, World Chamption Katsuki Yuuri, Blow Jobs, Nipple Play
> 
> for [sizequeenvictor](http://sizequeenvictor.tumblr.com) on tumblr, this fic is a result of a conversation we had, and also they deserve nice things <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer #1: in 2014, the gold and silver medal winners were both from Japan, and Keiji Tanaka came in seventeenth. I'm ignoring first and second, firstly because it fits the narrative better, and secondly, because Yuuri is shown to be the best male skater in Japan and he doesn't make a lot of competitions, so I feel like that speaks to the state of Japanese men's singles. I know that Japan is very good at figure skating.

_January, 2014_

Yuuri turns off the television in the break room at the rink and drops his head onto his arms.

The Four Continents are over. The best Japanese skater - the only Japanese skater - came in seventeenth place, not high enough to earn Japan two Worlds spots. That means that Yuuri can’t go this year; after a bad fall at Nationals, he was ranked second, and first place went to the Four Continents instead of him. Yuuri had been hoping against hope that he would be able to slip in under the radar and have another chance at Worlds, but Japan will be lucky to have the one spot and it isn’t going to be for him.

Phichit comes over - he’d left when Yuuri couldn’t stop fidgeting during the free skates - and drops back into the seat next to Yuuri. He rests his hand on Yuuri’s shoulder. “Bad luck.”

“Bad skate,” Yuuri mumbles.

“Bad skate too,” Phichit agrees. “And Song was incredible, of course.”

“Of course.” Yuuri sighs heavily. With the Four Continents over and Worlds out of reach again, that’s his season over, just like that. He feels adrift.

“Come on,” Phichit says. “Let’s go home.”

Yuuri sighs again, but he nods. He lets Phichit drag him back to the locker room to pack up, and then they pull their hats down over their ears and wrap their scarves tightly and brave the snow for the walk back to the dorms. Phichit complains loudly and animatedly about how horrible the weather is here compared to Thailand. Yuuri knows that he’s doing it to be a distraction, and he appreciates it. Phichit is a good friend.

Back in the dorm, he sulks. He microwaves some noodles for lunch and sulks while he eats them. Phichit goes out for a bit and comes back with fresh coffees. He sets one on Yuuri’s desk and doesn’t disturb the sulking. Yuuri watches Phichit do homework for a while, then rolls onto his back for a new sulking position and groans.

“It’s alright, Yuuri,” Phichit says. “There’ll be other years.”

“I know, it’s not that,” Yuuri replies. “Well, yes, it is, but it’s not.”

“I see,” Phichit says. He closes his notebook. “What is it?”

“I don’t know what to do with myself,” Yuuri says. “Celestino had me training like I’d make it to World’s, and now… nothing.”

Phichit nods. “It’s hard,” he agrees. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out.”

“Yeah.” Yuuri rubs his face. “I just feel like I have more in me. More energy. I don’t know where to put it.”

Phichit gets up and moves over to lift their curtain and peer out the window. “It stopped snowing,” he says. “Let’s go out.”

“Out where?”

“I don’t know. Wherever the wind takes us.”

“If it’s windy, it’ll take us back inside.”

“I can live with that.” Phichit turns back, one hand still on the curtain. His eyes are sparkling a little; Phichit loves adventures. He loves seeing new things; Yuuri saw more of Detroit the first few weeks Phichit lived with him than the three years he lived there before.

They wind up taking the bus and wandering around downtown. Yuuri likes downtown because he likes the fact that he can just see Canada. Phichit likes downtown because there are so many things to do and so many people to look at, and also because he can see Canada.

They ignore their diet plans and get pizza at Niki’s. Yuuri hasn’t had pizza in ages, and he inhales three slices and groans happily. Phichit laughs and puts away two of his own. He squeezes Yuuri’s shoulder and Yuuri ribs him about getting grease on his jacket. This feels good. It feels good to be out with Phichit.

It doesn’t feel like enough, though. Yuuri is antsy, desperate to do _something_ , not that he knows what that _something_ is. His fingers twitch in his pockets as they head up Beaubien, and then Phichit stops in front of a window. Yuuri keeps walking for a moment before he realizes that Phichit isn’t with him anymore, and then he has to double back.

Phichit is standing in front of a tattoo shop. The little windows are alight with neon signs proclaiming the shop’s openness. There’s a blue painted mural on the front wall. Phichit’s eyes are sparkling again.

“I feel like it’s a mistake, putting this place right next to a bar,” Yuuri says.

“Let’s go in,” Phichit suggests.

It’s late enough on a Thursday afternoon that not much is going on. A girl at the front counter is reading a magazine, and an artist is rearranging ink bottles in a cabinet. Phichit goes straight up to the girl and starts talking to her, gesturing to one of the tattooing chairs and then at his own shoulder. Yuuri hangs back, a little nervous, until Phichit waves him over.

“What are we doing?” he asks Phichit quietly. He leans his arms against a glass case filled with body jewelry. “Are we getting tattoos?”

“I might,” Phichit says. “I can’t speak for you.”

“I don’t think I’m ready for that.”

“That’s okay. I’ve been thinking about it for a while.” Phichit leans his head against Yuuri’s shoulder. “You should get something pierced instead.”

Yuuri frowns down at the case. “I’m not really an earring sort of person.”

“Of course you are. It doesn’t have to be earrings, anyway.”

“I just don’t want to put anything in my face that I couldn’t hide for a competition.”

Phichit’s head bobs against Yuuri’s shoulder. “Of course. There are other places, though. Like a belly button piercing. I’ve seen some girls back home with those. Or you could get nipple piercings, no one will ever see those.”

Yuuri laughs, and then Phichit looks up at him. Yuuri looks back and they just stare at each other for a moment.

Thirty minutes later, Yuuri is lying on his back on a padded table behind a curtain, his shirt in one hand and Phichit’s hand in the other, staring at the ceiling as a tall, bearded man wipes his chest down with antiseptic. He wonders vaguely how he’s gotten to this point in his life, but it’s not like he has anything to do now anyway, and he needs something right now. Some point of control in his life.

He looks to the side, where the piercer has gauze and barbells laid out. The barbells are small and silver and shiny and non-threatening looking. Somewhere behind him, the needles are being sterilized. He squeezes Phichit’s hand again, and Phichit squeezes back.

“It’ll be over in just a few seconds,” the piercer tells him, once he’s gotten the sterilized needles.  Phichit is sitting in a chair by Yuuri’s waist, as far out of the way as possible. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Yuuri steadies himself and remembers to breathe, then nods. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

It hurts, a lot. The piercer has Yuuri take a deep breath, and then Yuuri lets it all out in a startled, pained rush. He crushes Phichit’s hand so hard that Phichit’s knuckles pop. The second one hurts more, and his chest is throbbing, but he keeps his eyes shut tight, and in less than a minute, it’s over.

“Yuuri, that looks so good!” Phichit says. He lets go of Yuuri’s hand and stands up next to him, leaning to the side to keep out of the light. Yuuri blinks a few times, and then pushes himself up onto his elbows and looks.

Phichit’s right. They do look good. They’re understated and neat - Yuuri was uninterested in rhinestones and colors and bought the cheapest, simplest barbells the shop offered, and they’re just two little balls on either side of his nipples. His skin is swollen and a little red, and one of his nipples is bleeding. Yuuri makes an alarmed noise, but the piercer is already swooping in to wipe it off and get Yuuri some gauze.

He gets the aftercare spiel, and the piercer gives Phichit a little bag of salt while Yuuri delicately pulls his shirt back on. He feels hyperaware of his body, and he gets a little jolt when his shirt brushes over his chest. Everything is incredibly sensitive right now; the pain is dulling into just an ache, but his body knows that there’s something there and if it didn’t hurt, it might almost feel good.

Yuuri pays for the time and the jewelry while Phichit talks to the tattoo artist on staff. The artist doesn’t seem to believe that Phichit is an adult until Phichit produces both an ID card and a wikipedia page. Phichit really likes having a wikipedia page, and shows it off whenever possible. Yuuri chuckles to himself, and then winces as it tugs at his chest.

He sits with Phichit and lets Phichit squeeze his hand as the artist takes needles to his bicep. Phichit wanted something very simple, just three thick lines of color around his arm for the Thai flag. He gnaws on his lip and threatens to break Yuuri’s fingers when he raises his arm over his head so that the artist can get the inside of his bicep, and takes sips of water from a cup Yuuri brings him when the extra ink is being washed away. Slowly, two red lines and one big blue one turn into reality, little stripes of bare skin between them. Phichit’s skin gets swollen and he whines a few times during the finish work, pressing his forehead into Yuuri’s shoulder, but when he’s finally allowed to stand up and look in the mirror before the artist wraps it up, he looks elated.

“It looks great,” Yuuri says honestly, because it does. It’s bold and dark, like Phichit is, and not too garish or complicated. It suits Phichit perfectly.

Phichit turns and grins at Yuuri but he looks a little pale. “You think so?”

“I do. Let’s get you something to eat before you fall down.”

Phichit gets his own aftercare lecture - his healing time will be shorter than Yuuri’s but much itchier - and once he’s paid as well, they head out, walking a lot more carefully than when they came in.

“Celestino is going to be so mad tomorrow,” Yuuri notes.

“I won’t tell him if you down,” Phichit says. He bumps his shoulder affectionately against Yuuri’s, then stops and bounces on the balls of his feet, face twisted, muttering, “Ow, ow, oh, god, why, ow.”

“I might not have to,” Yuuri replies. He touches his hand lightly to his chest. Even through all of his layers, his skin throbs, but it’s satisfying, to have done this for himself.

 

 

_April, 2016_

Yuuri rolls over on his hotel bed and drops his head onto the pillow. He’s sore, and exhausted, and he’s never felt so satisfied and proud of his own skating in his life. His gold medal is sitting on the side table, next to his glasses and his phone. Victor is in the shower, and the sound of the water flows through Yuuri’s body like so much extra energy. It’s been two hours since he was crowned the _best skater in the world_ \- not by much, he knows, but he beat JJ and he beat Yuri and he beat Chris and he even beat Victor. Victor has a bronze medal, but it’s tucked away in a suitcase. They both know that the real victory, for both of them, is the ribbon that was placed around Yuuri’s neck.

The water shuts off and Yuuri throws an arm over his face. He’s shirtless and pantsless and warm and heavy. He never wants to move again. He listens to Victor toweling off, moving things around in the bathroom, moisturizing and packing things away so he doesn’t forget them. When he comes out, he’s flushed and naked and happy; Yuuri was worried that Victor wouldn’t take kindly to losing, but Victor doesn’t really seem to mind that much. He still works hard, but it’s for the love of skating rather than the desperate desire to win.

“You look comfortable,” he tells Yuuri as he goes over to his suitcase and kneels down in front of it.

“They gave us the good rooms this year,” Yuuri murmurs. He pushes himself up on one elbow to watch Victor as Victor digs through his luggage. “I could sleep for a day.”

“I hope not. We have exhibitions tomorrow.” Victor’s hand closes around something and then he stands up. “I have something for you.”

He’s holding a little box. It looks kind of like an engagement ring box. Yuuri’s eyes widen and his heart trips over himself as Victor comes to sit down on the bed. Yuuri pushes himself upright and stares at the little box, then up at Victor. Victor’s eyes are sparkling.

“Here. Open it.”

Yuuri takes the box and carefully pushes the lid up. It clicks open, and he sees two little rose gold rings with two little gold beads holding them closed, perfectly polished and shiny.

Yuuri looks up at Victor and raises his eyebrows.

“You don’t need to wear silver anymore,” Victor says brightly. He taps one of Yuuri’s nipples and Yuuri squirms.

Since he got them pierced, Yuuri has stuck exclusively to his stainless steel bars. They stay out of the way and they don’t irritate his skin, and they’re easy to tape over when he skates.  They’re not usually very visible through his shirt, and only a handful of people even know that his nipples are pierced at all (everyone at the Grand Prix banquet two years ago notwithstanding). He’s never had rings, and he’s never had anything nearly as flashy as gold.

“When did you get these?” Yuuri asks.

“After the Grand Prix final. I knew that it was only a matter of time.” Victor’s eyes dart down to the rings, and then back up. “Do you like them?”

Yuuri smiles. “I do. Of course I do. They’re beautiful.”

“You should put them in,” Victor murmurs.

“Oh, I see, this was a present to you,” Yuuri teases. He grabs Victor’s hand and pulls it over, palm up, then carefully starts unscrewing the little balls.

Changing jewelry is annoying and Yuuri avoids it whenever possible, but he gets the pieces swapped pretty painlessly. Victor holds his hand out patiently and holds the pieces of Yuuri’s bars while he fiddles with the beads, and when Yuuri’s done, he catches Victor leering at his chest.

“Yes, hello,” Yuuri murmurs. He reaches out and ruffles Victor’s damp hair. Victor shimmies away and puts the pieces of Yuuri’s bars in the little box and snaps it closed to keep them safe. He reaches over Yuuri to put the box on the side table, and then climbs directly on top of Yuuri. “Hello, Victor.”

“Hello, Yuuri,” Victor says. He trails his fingertips down Yuuri’s sternum, and then rubs one thumb gently in a circle over Yuuri’s left nipple. Yuuri shifts and bites his lower lip. “These look gorgeous on you.”

They feel like almost nothing at all, light and inconspicuous. Yuuri can’t feel the way the metal bends, and now that it’s warmed up to his skin, it’s not even cold. Or maybe it is, but the way Victor is brushing over his nipple is very distracting and Yuuri is failing to pay attention to anyone else.

“Zolotse,” Victor murmurs, rapt. “My world champion.”

He leans down and presses a soft kiss to Yuuri’s forehead, and then a harder one to his lips. Yuuri groans, already feeling keyed up - the relaxation from earlier was gone as soon as he saw the box, and now there’s an entirely different type of energy that only gets brighter the more Victor teases him with light, delicate brushes of his fingers. He catches Victor’s shoulders and runs his palms down Victor’s biceps and back up again, then wraps his arms around the back of Victor’s neck and tugs him down.

Victor kisses him stupid for a while, like he often does. He’s admitted to getting distracted by Yuuri before, forgetting his plans in the slide of lips against lips. But his fingers are still moving in tiny circles over Yuuri’s nipples, catching the rings and tugging gently, which makes Yuuri squirm, and Yuuri knows that it’s entirely on purpose.

Victor sits back on his knees to tug Yuuri’s underwear down and off and tosses it off the side of the bed. Yuuri runs a hand through his hair and blinks a few times, trying to get some brain cells working again, but then Victor leans down and presses his mouth to Yuuri’s throat, the dip between his collarbones, licking in the hollow and making wet sounds as he leaves open mouthed kisses down Yuuri’s sternum. Yuuri cards his fingers through Victor’s hair, and then gets a good handful and tugs when Victor’s mouth moves over to one nipple and licks.

“Oh–h, Victor,” he breathes. His back arches up without much input from his brain. Victor’s lips close around skin and he sucks gently, pulling the ring past his lips. He hooks his tongue around the bead and tugs gently and Yuuri gasps and then. The noise is strange coming out of him, but Victor’s full body shiver indicates that he seems to like it.

Victor gets himself up onto his knees. Yuuri whines at the loss of contact between them, but then sighs happily when Victor reaches between their bellies and wraps his hand around Yuuri’s cock. Yuuri’s not all the way hard yet, and there’s still a little bit of give, and he loves that. He loves feeling Victor being the one to get him ready, loves feeling himself harden against Victor’s palm or his tongue. He loves that Victor loves it too.

Victor’s teeth scrape delicately over Yuuri’s nipple, and then catch the ring. He pulls lightly, then sucks again, and Yuuri dissolves into shivery moans. He rarely lets Victor do this, but it makes him melt every single time. Victor hooks his tongue back into the ring and flicks it upwards, then rubs his cheek against Yuuri’s chest. Yuuri pushes Victor’s hair back from his forehead and smiles gently down at him. Victor’s face is flushed already, like he’s the one being touched. He must have been planning this for a while.

“Yuuri,” he murmurs against Yuuri’s skin. The tip of his nose brushes against the ring. “I’m so proud of you.”

“I’m proud of you too,” Yuuri breathes. “You were beautiful.”

“But you were better,” Victor says. There’s no self deprecation in that statement - it’s true, Yuuri was better, and Victor likes it that way. He likes showing Yuuri off, and he likes watching Yuuri skate so perfectly that no one in the entire arena can do anything but watch. “Perfect.” He kisses the ring again, and then reaches up to bring Yuuri’s hand down and kisses that ring too. “My Yuuri. You’re perfect.”

Yuuri’s breath rushes out of his chest in one soft huff, and he feels like he’s floating when he breathes in again.

Victor turns his head and takes Yuuri’s other nipple into his mouth, and the hand that had been resting on Yuuri’s cock, just feeling him, starts moving. Yuuri bucks gently, which makes the ring tug, and that sends heat rushing down his spine in quick, sharp waves, pooling under his belly. Victor draws back a few inches, a thin string of saliva connecting his lip to the ring, and then he grins and pulls at the ring with his teeth. Yuuri sees a flash of gold against white and he has to look away before he combusts.

Victor teases him a little more, leaving his nipples swollen and hard and tingling, and then all at once, ducks his head down and down and down. One hand stays on Yuuri’s chest, toying with one of the beads, but the other tilts Yuuri’s cock upright and then Victor is swallowing it down in three smooth motions. Yuuri chokes out Victor’s name and gets a good handful of hair and pulls, and groans at the way Victor hums around him. Victor wastes no time getting straight to the point, pushing himself down lower and lower until he can bury his face against Yuuri’s belly and swallow around him. Yuuri’s free hand reaches back and grabs onto the pillow because if he doesn’t hold onto something, he’s going to burst into flames.

Victor’s fingers find a ring again and they pull, almost too hard. Something like pain sparkles across Yuuri’s chest, but it feels good. It feels like an edge that Yuuri has run himself up against over and over, sharpening himself until he was on top of a podium with the best in the world _as_ the best in the world. It feels like potential energy brewing in his veins - he’s not done yet, he has more to do and farther to go. His body can be twisted into something beautiful again and again. Victor can wring the best out of him, and Yuuri can deliver.

Victor gags a little, his throat working frantically around Yuuri’s cock, but he only pulls up enough to breathe. He swallows and clears his throat and swallows again and glances up at Yuuri with watery eyes. Yuuri can see the affection written in them plain as day and he catches himself smiling before Victor grazes his teeth gently along the underside of Yuuri’s cock and Yuuri gasps and bites out a frantic moan and his head falls back against the pillow.

Victor can see the rough edge that Yuuri is riding, and he tailors himself to match. He scratches his nails down Yuuri’s chest, leaving groups of thin pink lines. He lets his teeth nick Yuuri’s skin every now and then like electric shocks, making Yuuri spasm and jerk upwards. He pinches Yuuri’s nipples and rolls them between his fingers and pulls on the rings until Yuuri is gasping for breath, trying not to fuck up into Victor’s mouth and failing spectacularly. Yuuri can see Victor’s hips moving vaguely, blurry but undeniably working downward, and he can see the way tears prick in Victor’s eyes and the way his eyebrows are drawn together in concentration so he can give Yuuri this.

“Victor,” Yuuri pants. He looks at the ceiling, because he doesn’t want to die. “Victor, it’s too much–”

Victor makes a rumbly sort of noise, which vibrates down Yuuri’s cock into his soul.

“Victor, I’m gonna– god, you’re an expert, you’re so good.” Yuuri jerks Victor’s hair, and Victor groans and his eyes flutter closed for a moment before they open again and search for Yuuri’s. He pulls back a little bit, takes a deep breath through his nose, and then shoves himself back down and tweaks one of the rings and swallows hard and Yuuri feels the way Victor’s throat works around him and he’s done for. The edge meets him and he throws himself against it and it almost hurts the way it’s so intense. His own eyes sting and his breath is loud in his ears as the air is punched out of him and turned into a series of frantic, desperate moans that taste like Victor’s name. Victor swallows greedily and never lets up, prolonging the way he drags pleasure over Yuuri like sharp nails, leaving him breathless and shaking and sweaty and satisfied deep inside himself.

Yuuri swallows a few times, then lets out a big breath and strokes Victor’s hair again. His grip had left little indents in Victor’s bangs and he smoothes them out and shudders when Victor carefully lets Yuuri slip from his mouth. Victor licks his lips and sucks at the bottom one, then cranes his head up to kiss one of Yuuri’s nipples and flops down on top of him. Yuuri grunts, but hugs Victor tightly to him. He presses one thigh between Victor’s legs and finds that Victor is a lot wetter than expected.

“The situation took care of itself,” Victor mutters, sounding a little embarrassed. Yuuri grins and nuzzles his hair. “It wasn’t about me, anyway.”

“It can be about you later,” Yuuri offers.

“Later. Not now. I don’t know about you, but I just competed in an international skating championship and I’m very tired.”

Yuuri laughs. “I think I can relate.” He presses his cheek against the top of Victor’s head. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“All of it. Just… all of it.” There are so many things that Yuuri couldn’t begin to name them all. But Victor understands.

“Of course, zolotse,” Victor murmurs. He wraps one arm around Yuuri’s waist and nestles against his chest. “Anything.”

Maybe he wouldn’t have, a year ago, but now, Yuuri believes him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer #2: as someone who has nipple piercings, I would not do this. Afterwards, Yuuri probably ran to the hotel bathroom to soak them and clean them out. It's your call whether your piercings are healed enough to let someone put their mouth on them and after two years, Yuuri's are probably fine, but I personally would not let anyone's mouth near my nipples.


	5. Day 5: More Than Two People (Yuuri/Victor/Phichit)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tags for this fic: Pre-Canon, Detroit Days, Anal Sex, Platonic Sex, During Canon, Mentions of Christophe Giacometti/Victor Nikiforov, Phichit Chulanont Is A Good Friend, Taking Things Slow, Victor Is Anxious, Victor Loves Yuuri A Lot, Skype, Skype Sex, Webcam/Video Chat Sex, Light Dom/sub, Bottom Katsuki Yuuri, Bottom Victor Nikiforov, Top Phichit Chulanont

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in the text thread, texts that start with > are from victor and texts that start with < are from phichit. i tried to make their texting styles different enough that it's easy to tell, but just in case.

1.

“Ahh– oh, Yuuri, that’s perfect, oh…”

Yuuri pants and rolls his hips back. His spine is arched so much that his chest is flush with the bed, and he’s still doing most of the work. Phichit is kneeling behind him, his knees on either side of Yuuri’s thighs, running his hands all over Yuuri’s back, tracing scratches that Yuuri had demanded that he leave.

“You’re so-o-o good at this,” Phichit hisses. “God, you’re so good, _Yuuri_ –”

Yuuri whimpers and rubs his face against the pillow and reaches for Phichit’s hands. He guides one down to his cock, then other up to the back of his neck, and fucks himself back as hard as he can with how Phichit is nearly folding him in half. Phichit strokes him off frantically, until Yuuri bends like a longbow and gasps and nearly screams and comes all over Phichit’s hand. Phichit swears and drops down to cover Yuuri’s back with his chest and buries his face in Yuuri’s neck as he chases Yuuri’s pleasure with his own and finishes a moment or two later, shuddering hard.

Yuuri flops down and groans, satisfaction obvious in his face. Phichit carefully pulls out and slips his condom off, knots it, and throws it in their trash bin, and then he collapses next to Yuuri. Yuuri rolls over and tucks himself against Phichit’s side.

“Thanks,” Yuuri mumbles, then yawns widely. “Needed that.”

“Any time.”

“Sorry I distracted you from your essay.”

“It’ll still be there in the morning.”

 

2.

“So you and Chris,” Yuuri says over dinner one night.

They’re sitting on Victor’s bed. It’s very late, and they’d missed dinner with Yuuri’s family, so Victor had loaded up two plates while Yuuri let Makkachin out for a late night pee and now they’re leaning against Victor’s wall, food in their laps and dog at their feet. It’s been a week since… so many things. It’s been a week since neither of them could deny that things were different anymore, that Yuuri grabbed a medal and Victor kissed him in front of thousands of people and everything changed because things were said out loud.

“Me and Chris,” Victor agrees.

“What was that like?”

“Good. Intense. We would only really see each other during competitions, and emotions are so fresh on the surface. I trusted him to be what I needed at the time, and he trusted me with the same.”

“When was the last time?” Yuuri asks.

“Oh… a year ago? Or a little less. One of the Grand Prix events. I think he’s seeing someone now.”

Yuuri hums. He eats a mouthful of rice.

“Why do you ask?”

“I was curious, I guess. I don’t mind.”

“You don’t?”

“No, of course not. It’s not that weird, anyway.”

“You don’t think so?”

Yuuri shakes his head. “I think it makes sense. Other figure skaters are the only ones who really know what it’s like. Phichit helped me a lot.”

Victor nods, and then blinks. “You and Phichit?”

Yuuri grunts in affirmation “In college.”

“Oh. Really?”

“Yes. Is that strange?”

“No, not at all. I just thought you’d never had a lover before.”

“Phichit wasn’t my lover. He was my best friend.” Yuuri licks a couple grains of rice off his chopsticks.

“And he was good for you?”

“He still is,” Yuuri says. He gives Victor the fondest smile Victor thinks he’s ever seen, then sets his plate to the side and leans his head against Victor’s shoulder. Victor balances his plate in his lap so he can wrap his arm around Yuuri and squeeze him close.

 

3.

“Tell me what you want,” Victor breathes. Warm air rushes between them, and Yuuri takes it in, sighs it out as his own. “Tell me, Yuuri.”

Yuuri’s lips press against his again, wet and soft and needy. His fingers are fisted in Victor’s shirt, tugging him forward, as if there’s anywhere else to go. Yuuri is backed up against the wall, mostly because he put himself there and dragged Victor along with him. Yuuri’s bedroom is far enough away from any other lived-in room that he doesn’t much care about being quiet.

“Yuuri,” Victor gasps when Yuuri’s teeth dig into his lower lip. “I need to know.”

“Anything,” Yuuri breathes back, muffled because he can’t bear to pull away for even the half second it would take to reply. “Everything. Anything you want.”

Victor groans, but he doesn’t push, because he doesn’t know what that means. He wants to do everything to Yuuri, but _everything_ is a big word to hold in their mouths. It doesn’t feel _right_ to take anything from Yuuri, let alone everything.

“Yuuri,” he pleads, because he _has_ to know. He refuses to assume again. He is terrified of scaring Yuuri away, now that they’ve just barely gotten on the same page. He never wants to feel the helpless feeling of Yuuri pulling away from him again.

But Yuuri doesn’t come forth with anything else. He drags Victor to his bed and pushes him onto it and then kisses him some more. He rolls over and pulls Victor on top of him, and maybe he’s hard but Victor can’t really tell because it might be the seam of his jeans and he’s not going to be the one to reach down and find out. Yuuri’s certainly enthusiastic about kissing, because he holds Victor’s face in his hands and drags fingers through Victor’s hair and makes all these soft little noises that Victor wants to play on repeat for the rest of his life.

They kiss and kiss, and then the intensity sort of dwindles, until Yuuri is brushing the tip of his nose against Victor’s and kissing the corners of his mouth and his lower lip. He looks sleepy and sated and happy, and Victor can’t deny the satisfaction deep in his own chest. It’s gentle and easy again, and it transitioned so effortlessly to something that Victor has also desperately wanted for so long. Yuuri nuzzles his jaw and kisses Victor’s lips, and then his cheek, and Victor’s heart threatens to burst with happiness. He wants to please Yuuri, wants to drive him out of his mind with lust, but he needs this too and he’ll think about the other thing later.

 

4.

“Yuuri, can I borrow your phone?” Victor asks.

Yuuri is waxing his skates on the floor of the bedroom. Victor is lounging on the bed, one leg kicked over the other. He spins Yuuri’s phone around between his fingers.

Yuuri glances up. “Yeah, I suppose. What’s wrong with yours?”

“I need to look up a phone number,” Victor says.

“Oh, okay. Sure.” Yuuri wipes his fingers off, then holds out his hand. Victor tosses him the phone and Yuuri puts in his lock code, then passes it back and picks up his skate polish again.

Victor goes into Yuuri’s contacts and grimaces at all the kanji, then taps through each entry until he finds one tagged with an old picture of Yuuri and Phichit in Detroit. They both look much younger than they had last month at the Grand Prix final. Victor opens Phichit’s phone number, which is in characters he knows he can read, and then copies it into his own phone and saves it.

He switches back to the home screen - Yuuri’s background is a picture of Makkachin at the beach, Victor sitting in the background looking at the water - and then sets the phone back at the edge of the bed. “Thank you, Yuuri.”

“Mhm,” Yuuri hums, distracted. He reaches up and takes the phone and drops it on the floor next to his foot without looking up.

Victor chews at the inside of his cheek for a moment, then opens up a new text thread.

_> Hello, this is Victor Nikiforov. Is this Phichit’s number?_

He isn’t quite sure why he feels so nervous. Phichit has the same type of phone that he does, so he sees that the text is read nearly immediately and then he stares at the three little dots until a reply pops up.

_< hi Victor!! This is phichit. what’s up?_

_> I was wondering if I could ask you something._

_< is everything okay??_

_> Everything is fine._

_> I need some advice._

There’s a pause, then. The text is read, but the dots don’t appear. Phichit isn’t typing anything back. Victor’s chest squeezes unpleasantly, and anxiety freezes his veins. There’s not much reason for Phichit to dislike him, but Victor is suddenly afraid that he’s overstepped somehow.

But then Phichit is typing again, and Victor breathes a sigh of relief at his reply.

_< yes, no problem. is it about yuuri??_

_< or skating? I could give you pointers if you wanted haha_

That makes Victor smile a little. He’s seen Phichit break tense moods before, and he appreciates that Phichit can do it over text too.

_> Maybe another time. Yes it’s about Yuuri._

_> We talked some about your time in Detroit when you were living together._

_> He said that you were close._

_< yeah yuuri’s my best friend! living with him was great_

_> He said you were very very close._

There’s another pause. Victor is torn between being afraid that he’s said the wrong thing and being afraid that Phichit is laughing at him.

_< is this The Talk from Victor Nikiforov?_

_< I feel like I should be the one giving it to you_

_< if you hurt yuuri, and all of that. shotguns are easy to find in thailand_

_< does it make you uncomfortable?_

It doesn’t make Victor uncomfortable. Victor has had his fair share of lovers, plenty of whom he did not love. Phichit and Yuuri loved each other, platonically but intensely, because they complemented each other so well. And even if they didn’t, Victor would never judge over that.

_> No, not at all. I’m glad Yuuri had someone in Detroit._

_> You’re very important to him._

_< <3_

_> I just need advice. About Yuuri._

_> About what you two shared in Detroit._

Victor’s face is flaming red. He’s desperately glad that Yuuri isn’t paying attention to him. He has no idea how to explain why he looks like this.

He waits for Phichit to reply, and he waits, and then suddenly, his phone vibrates and Phichit’s name pops up on the screen. A phone call. Victor wasn’t anticipating a phone call. He stares at it and hits the volume button on the side to quiet the buzzing and he stares some more. He glances at Yuuri, who’s oblivious in his own world.

He gets up, shakes out his legs, and pads quickly out of the bedroom, shutting the door behind him, and then finally answers the call. “Hello.”

“Definitely Victor, then,” Phichit says.

“Definitely Victor.”

“It’s not every day that a legend texts you. I wanted to check.”

“Of course.”

“So.”

“So.”

“You want advice on how to have sex with Yuuri.”

Victor makes a strangled noise and hides his face in his hand. “I was trying to be more delicate than that.”

“I think you’re calling about the wrong person if you wanted delicacy,” Phichit says. “With Yuuri, you need to be very explicit. You know that.”

“I do,” Victor says, thinking back to the hotel room before the short program at the Grand Prix final.

“Let’s be explicit, then. You want help on having sex with Yuuri.”

“Well. I. Yes.”

“No problem,” Phichit says brightly, like Victor is asking him for restaurant recommendations. “What have you done so far.”

“Um… Not much, really. Mostly just kissing.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Is that so unusual?”

“Well, I mean… We all kind of just assumed, with you being married or engaged or whatever you’re calling it. And you’ve seen Yuuri’s posters.”

Victor has seen Yuuri’s posters. He didn’t even tease Yuuri about them much, mostly because Yuuri saw Victor looking at them and turned the exact shade of red that Victor is right now.

“It’s not for lack of interest,” he says stiltedly.

Phichit is quiet for a moment, then hesitantly says, “Victor, if it’s a physical issue–”

“No, not at all. No. It’s fine,” Victor says quickly.

“Okay, because I’m super _not_ qualified for that, at all.”

“Of course not.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“I’m scared,” Victor blurts out.

A silence hangs on the other end. Victor kind of wants to open the window and jump out of it, but his apartment is too low for it to kill him.

“I don’t understand,” Phichit says eventually.

“I want it to be good for him,” Victor says. “It needs to be perfect. I asked what he wanted and he said _anything_ and I– I froze, because what if I screwed up and gave him something he didn’t want? What was I supposed to do?”

“What you usually do, probably,” Phichit says. “It’s not that different from anyone else.”

“But I never cared so much about anyone else,” Victor says desperately. “No one else has made me want to work so hard for them. I couldn’t live with doing any of this wrong.”

Phichit is quiet again, but when he speaks, it’s soft, and Victor can hear the smile in his voice. “I don’t think that’s going to be too much of a problem.”

“Please,” Victor says quietly. “I just want to be good for him. I know you know how. You took such good care of him in Detroit.”

“We took care of each other,” Phichit says. He sounds thoughtful. “Okay. I’ll do my best.”

Victor considers getting a notepad, but instead just sits on the couch and listens and closes his eyes, committing Phichit’s old memories to his own mind.

 

5.

“Tilt the laptop a little more, I can’t see very well,” Phichit instructs.

Victor nods and wipes his hands on the towel Yuuri’s lying on top of, then reaches over to the bedside table and adjusts the laptop down a couple degrees. In the tiny viewfinder next to Phichit’s face, Yuuri is spread out on the bed, his face red and his hair messy. He stretches his arms above his head, then lets them flop back down.

“That’s better,” Phichit says. “Hi, Yuuri.”

“Hi, Peach,” Yuuri mumbles.

“Thank you, Victor,” Phichit says.

Victor nods and then crawls back between Yuuri’s thighs.

They all have a rhythm now. The first time this happened, everyone was nervous and Victor was incredibly awkward and Yuuri was so embarrassed that he refused to have his face on the screen, even though Phichit was seeing nothing new. There were trials and errors - lots of errors - but Phichit has always been good at taking most things into stride, especially when it comes to coaxing Yuuri into doing things, and gradually, Yuuri had loosened up.

Yuuri likes being told what to do, but so does Victor. Sometimes, one of them will be in a mood and pin the other down and order them around and drive them out of their mind. And sometimes, all either of them want is to be told that they’re good, to be directed into pleasing, and Phichit has always been good at that.

“You did really good, Victor,” Phichit says. “You’re so talented with your mouth.”

Victor smiles a little, though his face flushes warm. Watching Phichit in Thai Nationals in April had been a truly bizarre experience, because Victor enjoys watching Phichit skate but he also knows what Phichit’s cock looks like and figure skating costumes are frequently very tight.

“I want you to do something else now, though,” Phichit adds. “You should go get your fancy lube. It’s Yuuri’s favorite.”

“The expensive one?” Victor asks. He glances down at Yuuri and smiles.

“It smells nice,” Yuuri mumbles.

“As you wish,” Victor says, to Yuuri and to the laptop. He rolls off the bed and slips out to the bathroom to dig through their cabinets. He can hear Yuuri talking quietly to Phichit through the open door; sometimes they speak in Thai, and sometimes in English. Phichit is good at keeping Yuuri calm. Victor is, too, but there’s a difference in the way Phichit talks to an anxious Yuuri that Victor hasn’t quite nailed yet.

He finds Yuuri’s favorite lube - which does smell nice, even if it’s not flavored - and brings it back to the bedroom. Yuuri is lying on his side now, stroking himself slowly, but he’s laughing like Phichit is telling a joke. Victor watches them fondly for a moment until Yuuri looks up and lets go of his cock to hold out his arm for Victor. Victor tosses the lube on the bed and climbs on top of Yuuri, wrapping him up tightly in his arms and rubbing his cheek against Yuuri’s jaw.

“There he is,” Phichit says fondly. “We were getting worried about you.”

“I’ve lived in this apartment for three years,” Victor points out. “It’s pretty difficult to get lost.”

“But Yuuri needs you!” Phichit teases.

“It’s true,” Yuuri murmurs. He wiggles his hips a little.

“Victor, I want you to get Yuuri on his back again, okay? Give me a good view.”

Victor nods and wraps his arms around Yuuri’s waist and tugs. Yuuri kicks one leg out and laughs again as Victor tugs him higher up the bed and pushes his legs apart. Yuuri reaches behind him and props his chest up with a couple of pillows so that he can see Phichit and Phichit can see him. Phichit gives them a little wave and Yuuri snickers and waves back, then _oofs_ when Victor drops himself on top of him again. “How’s this?”

“Good. Good boy, Victor,” Phichit says, and Victor closes his eyes and smiles a little. “I want you to finger Yuuri now, but you don’t have to be too nice about it.”

“You’re so mean to me,” Yuuri murmurs, but he’s already spreading his legs wider, eager for the stretch.

“Oh, I’m not, I know what you like.” Phichit rolls his eyes. “Victor, start with two fingers. Yuuri doesn’t need the type of warmup he pretends he does.”

“Tearing is serious, Phichit.”

“You’re off season anyway. Now, Victor.”

Phichit is a cheerful, kind person, but he knows how to put an edge in his voice that sends Yuuri and Victor scrambling to obey. Phichit calls them easy, but he does so with blatant affection, and it’s not like he’s unaffected by it.

Victor rescues the lube from under Yuuri’s knee and pops it open. He dribbles some directly over Yuuri’s body, slicking up his cock and his belly as well as his ass, and then gets his own fingers soaking too. Phichit had suggested the towel, because Yuuri has a thing for the noises, and they were doing too much laundry after sex before.

“Straight to two,” Phichit reminds Victor. “I want to see his face.”

Victor ducks out of the way and Yuuri waggles his eyebrows, and then his face goes slack as Victor rubs along the cleft of his ass with his knuckles and then presses in with the tips of two fingers.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Phichit praises. “Look now much he likes that, and you’ve barely even done anything.”

Yuuri swallows and nods. He glances at the laptop, and then at Victor, and then lets his head fall back.

“Ah, ah, Yuuri, head up. You know I like to see you.”

Victor reaches over their heads with his clean hand and gets a throw pillow and tucks it behind Yuuri’s neck. Yuuri leans back against it and it props him up enough that he can see Phichit without having to try.

“There we go. Thank you, Victor, that was a good idea.”

Victor bites his lower lip, then rests his palm on Yuuri’s hip. He squeezes gently, and Yuuri sighs and Victor feels when he forces his body to relax because he’s able to ease in to the second knuckles of his fingers with little effort.

“Good, Yuuri, that’s good,” Phichit says. “I remember what that used to feel like. You’re a lucky man, Victor Nikiforov. When we didn’t have training the next day, I used to finger Yuuri for hours.”

“Phichit,” Yuuri groans, like it’s not something Victor already knows.

“Hush. You love being fingered. Don’t you?”

“Yes,” Yuuri mutters.

“Sorry, what?”

“Yes, I like being fingered.” Yuuri is blushing for real now, but when Victor glances back, Phichit looks pleased.

“Good boy. Now let Victor take care of you. Let him in.”

Yuuri licks his lips and nods, and reaches back to hold onto the pillows while Victor slowly flexes and curls his fingers inside of him. Every now and then Yuuri’s muscles will relax and Victor can slip in deeper, until eventually his knuckles are flush with Yuuri’s skin.

“That’s perfect, Yuuri. Victor, bring the laptop closer.”

“Um,” Victor says.

“You can do it one-handed.”

Yuuri gets a solid grip on Victor’s wrist so that it won’t move, and then Victor carefully picks up Yuuri’s laptop and sets it on the bed. He tilts it up so that Phichit can see the full expanse of Yuuri’s body. Phichit whistles.

“You look so good, Yuuri. Victor, kiss his throat, you know how much he likes that.”

Victor immediately bends himself over and latches his lips onto Yuuri’s neck. Yuuri shudders and grabs onto Victor’s shoulders and drops his head back against the pile of pillows.

“Let me hear you, Yuuri,” Phichit prompts gently.

Yuuri whines, and then moans softly. Victor rumbles his approval and nips at Yuuri’s skin, and Yuuri bucks his hips up. He hisses at whatever Victor nudges against, so Victor does his best to find it again. He flexes his fingers back and then slowly curls them forward, searching, until Yuuri gasps and writhes and tries to push away.

“Yep, that’s it,” Phichit says. “Focus on that, Victor. Make him take it.”

Victor nods against Yuuri’s shoulder and closes his eyes, looking for the slight changes in texture inside Yuuri. Yuuri gets overwhelmed very quickly with direct prostate stimulation, so Victor does his best to just brush by it, over and over. Yuuri tries to bite back his cry, so Victor does it again until he can’t help but let Phichit hear it.

Somewhere in the edges of his mind, Victor hears Phichit’s responding breath. It’s just a little thing, light and sharp, but it makes him smile. Phichit is good at leading, but he isn’t unaffected.

“Move him up, to three, Victor,” Phichit says. “I want him to ride you.”

Yuuri’s shivers again and he digs his heels into the bed, pressing his body upward. Victor takes advantage of the change in position and bunches his fingers together, working his ring finger into Yuuri and then spreading all three out inside of him. Yuuri groans and tosses his head to the side again and Victor sinks his teeth into the outline of the tendon in his neck. Yuuri keens and clenches down around Victor’s knuckles, and Victor rubs up in retaliation, directly against Yuuri’s prostate, and Yuuri chokes out a sob and scratches hard along Victor’s shoulders.

Phichit makes a soft noise. Victor glances up out of the corner of his eye. Phichit’s not moving, but his eyes are dark and intense and trained on the way the two of them move together.

“Are you ready, Yuuri?” he asks.

Victor isn’t sure, but Yuuri likes the ache more than he does. Victor likes the feeling of being full, and Yuuri likes the feeling of being stretched open feeling it in his hips for hours afterwards.

“I think so,” Yuuri says. He reaches back down between his legs and carefully pulls Victor’s fingers out, whining softly at the absence.

“Okay. Pin him.”

Yuuri’s hands are on Victor’s arms in a flash, gripping him tight and flipping him onto his back. Victor shouts, startled, but Yuuri is already crawling up to sit in Victor’s lap and hold him down. He presses one hand against Victor’s sternum and reaches over with the other to clumsily dig through their side drawer for a condom. He rips the wrapper open with his teeth and then hands the condom to Victor, who’s better at rolling them on on the first try. He shuffles back a little so that Victor can pump himself a couple times and then put the condom on, and then fumbles behind them for the lube. Victor pushes his hips up to drag the towel under himself and Yuuri slicks him up, then climbs into his lap again.

“Yuuri, not that your back isn’t beautiful, but I can’t see anything,” Phichit says.

Yuuri sighs deeply, like he’s tremendously put upon. He barely even wipes his hands off before he picks his laptop up and puts it back on the side table. “Better?”

“Yes. Your ass is so good, Yuuri. I know you know, but you know I have to say it.” Yuuri arches his back a little and Phichit laughs. “Yeah, that’s it. Okay, climb on. Don’t hurt yourself.”

Victor curls his hand around the base of his cock to help, and Yuuri shuffles his thighs apart and reaches behind himself to line Victor up. Yuuri takes a few slow breaths, and then starts to slowly sink down, managing half an inch of Victor at a time. It takes a moment, and it’s quiet except for Yuuri panting, because Victor is rapt and he knows that Phichit is too.

Yuuri bottoms out, seating himself directly in Victor’s lap, and then he moans, low and hoarse. He lets his head roll back, and then looks over at Phichit, his eyes half-lidded.

Phichit clears his throat. “Yeah. That’s perfect, Yuuri. Can you hold his wrists down for me? Or is that too difficult?”

“I can do it,” Yuuri murmurs. He pitches forward and catches Victor’s wrists on the way down, pushing them up over Victor’s head. Victor’s eyelashes flutter a little, and he looks up blearily as Yuuri hovers above him. Yuuri’s lips are parted and red from being chewed on, and Victor has to lean up to kiss him.

“That’s perfect,” Phichit murmurs again. “You two are so good. Always so good.”

Victor sees Yuuri swallow hard, and he feels heat rush through his own chest like the ocean. After months of talking, he feels safe with Phichit, and he knows Yuuri does too, always has. They don’t _need_ Phichit, like Phichit doesn’t _need_ them, but when he’s there, he always makes Victor feel cared for and good and strong and protected. At Worlds, the three of them had all been there, and when Phichit gave Victor a hug, Victor was startled at how effortlessly easy it was to melt into it, his nose pressed against the curve of Phichit’s jaw, and relax.

“Yuuri,” Phichit prompts. “Let me see you. You have to make Victor come before you can.”

“Not fair,” Yuuri complains, even though he loves it.

“You’re not fair. Come on, don’t you want to show off for me?”

Yuuri does want to show off for Phichit, because Yuuri is an exhibitionist, even when he’s shy. He gives Victor one last kiss, then pushes himself up to lean back with his hands propped against the bed behind him, and then arches his back and rises up a little bit, then thrusts himself down. Victor grunts and moves to wrap his hands around Yuuri’s hips, but Phichit stops him.

“Hands above your head, Victor. If you move them again, I’ll tell Yuuri to stop.”

Victor believes it. And he believes that Yuuri would stop. He moves his hands back over his head and knots his fingers in the blanket.

“There we go, that’s a good boy. Go on, Yuuri.”

Yuuri sweeps his bangs off of his forehead - they’re getting long, and sweat makes them stick and hang prickly in his eyes - and then he curls his fingers in the bends of Victor’s knees and pulls until Victor bends them and Yuuri has something to lean against. He braces himself against Victor’s thighs, and then rocks his hips forward, shifting Victor inside him to just the right angle he wants. He gasps and keens again, his cock - which has been neglected since Phichit ordered Victor to stop sucking it - bobbing against his belly. It’s damp with saliva and precome and Victor badly wants it in his mouth again, but he’s not flexible enough for that.

He loves the way Yuuri rides him, because it’s dirty and fast and it’s not for Victor. Yuuri’s not quite _using him_ , but he’s doing exactly what he needs to to get himself going, to rub against all the right spots all the time, to force his body open and feel the ache under his tongue. It’s a wild thing that Victor loves, could spend his entire life watching, and it’s different to how Yuuri does it when they’re alone. Yuuri likes to kiss during sex, a lot, and Victor would never complain because he thinks it’s one of the best parts, but now, Phichit is helping Yuuri take exactly what he needs.

“I see you getting close, Yuuri,” Phichit says. He’s definitely breathless now. Phichit rarely touches himself while directing Victor and Yuuri because he knows the responsibility he has for the two of them and he doesn’t want to be distracted, but once the two of them are done and back in their own heads, he doesn’t last very long. Victor wonders if it’s Phichit’s own little form of masochism, but he seems to be having a very good time by himself. “You know you can’t come until Victor does.”

“Wanna use my hands,” Yuuri pants.

“Go for it.”

Yuuri steadies himself, and then reaches for Victor. He pushes two fingers against Victor’s lips until Victor parts them and Yuuri can slide his fingers inside. Victor sucks on them, and then almost bites them when Yuuri pinches his nipple and twists it, lighting up nerves across his chest. Victor’s moan is muffled, but he can tell that Phichit heard it by the soft curse that Skype doesn’t quite muffle.

Yuuri tenses and squeezes around Victor, moving less with his body and more with his muscles. Victor forces his eyes open so that he can watch. Yuuri’s abdomen is tight and his body is shaking a little with the effort of holding back and driving Victor forward at the same time. His face is determined and flushed and beautiful. Victor gets caught on that for a moment, and then hears Phichit saying his name.

“Don’t you want to come, Victor? Yuuri’s working so hard for you.”

“Yes,” Victor grunts. “Yes. Please.”

He looks at the laptop again and Phichit smiles. “Good boy. I want you to. Can you come for us, Victor? Can you be a good boy?”

Yuuri makes an agreeable noise. He rotates his hips in a sort of figure eight that makes Victor see stars.

“Come on, Victor,” Yuuri whispers. “Come in me, please?”

“Oh, god,” Victor bites out.

“Victor,” Phichit says. “I want to see you come for me, right now.”

Phichit is edges and hard surfaces for Victor to throw himself against, and it’s blessed relief and Victor loves him for it. Something in his brain is hardwired to the orders, and when Phichit makes demands, Victor likes to follow them. His body trips over itself to obey, and Yuuri’s eyes widen and then he gives Victor a tired grin as Victor bucks up a few times into him and then tenses. His nails scrape against the comforter and he goes quiet for a second, and then his breath rushes back into him as he gasps for air. He hears Phichit murmuring, “Oh, yes, that’s beautiful,” and he sees Yuuri’s awed expression and he feels pride in himself for being good for them.

“He’s so good,” Yuuri says to Phichit, reverent.

“I know. Just as beautiful as you always said.” Phichit runs a hand through his hair. He looks a little shaky, but it could just be Victor still trembling. “Good boy, Victor.”

Victor whimpers, inhibitions gone. The words feel like sunlight on bare skin.

“That was perfect. And Yuuri, you were so good too,” Phichit continues. “And you did exactly what I told you.”

Yuuri nods eagerly. Victor manages to make himself look down; Yuuri’s cock is angrily red and leaking, but Yuuri has held back from touching himself because he wasn’t allowed to.

“Victor, are you still in there?”

“Nnnn. Da.”

“Will you finish Yuuri off for me? He’s been so good, and he deserves it.”

Victor carefully, finger by finger, releases the grip on the comforter above his head, and then reaches down and wraps his hand around Yuuri instead. Yuuri breathes in sharply through his nose, and then exhales a soft, wavering moan and drops his head forward to watch. His skin is so hot it feels like it could burn Victor if he was still for too long.

“That’s it. You don’t have to tease him. Just let him have it,” Phichit says.

Victor nods vaguely. He rubs his palm over the head of Yuuri’s cock, gathering a bit of the moisture there, and then starts stroking him in earnest. Yuuri’s hips buck immediately, and Victor hisses at the way it makes his own nerves spark, much too soon, but he wants to see Yuuri finish more than he wants to make him move, so he bears it as best he can. He grits his teeth at the way Yuuri squirms around him and he uses his other hand to cup Yuuri’s balls and squeeze them delicately between his fingers.

“Ahh, Victor–” Yuuri gasps. “Yes–”

“It’s okay, Yuuri,” Phichit says kindly. “Whenever you want.”

Yuuri nods frantically, and his body is already spasming. He shouts and then digs his teeth into his lip and whines, and his cock twitches and he comes all over Victor’s hand and his chest. Victor watches, fascinated, as it spills down his knuckles and smears down his stomach, and he slows down as Yuuri catches his breath and then collapses on top of him.

“Yuuri. Are you okay?”

“‘M alright,” Yuuri mumbles. “Dead, a little.”

“You’ll be fine,” Phichit says. “That was perfect. I’m so proud of you.”

Victor feels the tremor that rolls through Yuuri’s body like thunder, and then Yuuri is entirely dead weight on top of him.

“Victor, I think this one’s on you,” Phichit says, laughing a little. “He’ll crush you if you don’t get him off now.”

“It would be a good death,” Victor says. He wraps his arms around Yuuri, holding onto him as tight as he can. Yuuri hums happily and nuzzles at Victor’s throat. They stay that way for a while, all three of them content to be quiet, until Victor gets too uncomfortable and has to pull himself free.

Yuuri gets up and stretches and wipes himself off, then goes to start a shower. Victor deals with the condom and then lies down on the other side of the bed, pulling the laptop toward him. Phichit is on his phone, but he glances up every now and then, and when he sees Victor watching him, he smiles and puts it away. “There he is. You were great today.”

“So were you,” Victor says honestly. “Can we do anything for you?”

“Sounds like Yuuri’s made a run for it already. How about you two shower and then call me back? I’m pretty sure this situation won’t disappear any time soon.”

Victor chuckles. “Sounds like a plan. We’ll be back in ten minutes.”

“I look forward to it.” Phichit beams and blows Victor a kiss, then ends the call. Victor lies there for a moment, feeling floaty and desperately affectionate, and then he pushes Yuuri’s laptop to the side and gets up to go join him in the shower.


	6. Day 6: Rimming (Yuuri/Victor)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tags for this chapter: Post-Canon, Shower Sex, Rimming
> 
> written for [ingthing](http://ingthing.tumblr.com)/[blushunder](http://ingthing.tumblr.com) on tumblr. she drew some rimming in a stream a week ago, which you can see [here](http://blushunder.tumblr.com/post/160833473162/), and i told her i'd write this for her.

Victor pushes his way through the front door of the apartment and drops his duffel bag on the floor, then heads straight for the living room. He flops face first onto the couch with a groan, and Yuuri comes in behind him, checking the door closed with his hip and turning the lock. He picks up Victor’s bag with his own and takes them to the tiny laundry room to get their practice clothes in the wash and set their skates out to dry. Victor lies still, legs dangling over the armrest of the couch. Makkachin pads up to Victor and sniffs at his face until Victor nudges him away with the back of his hand.

“Don’t be mean,” Yuuri says when he comes in. He crouches down and holds out his arms and Makkachin reaches his front paws up on Yuuri’s shoulders. Yuuri hugs him and ruffles his ears, then pushes him off. “Is our good boy hungry?”

Makkachin wags his tail, so Yuuri stands up and leads him over to the kitchen to feed him. Victor listens to Yuuri scooping dog food into Makkachin’s bowl, then rinsing out his water dish and refilling that as well. Makkachin lumbers over to drink some, then goes back to eating, and Yuuri comes back to the couch and rests his hand on the small of Victor’s back.

“You should shower, Victor. You’ll feel all sweaty if you don’t.”

“I’m so tired,” Victor whines. “Do you know how many years it’s been since Yakov made me do compulsory figures?”

“Since they were compulsory, I assume.”

“Yuuri, they stopped requiring them in nineteen ninety.”

“I know.”

Victor glances up, and Yuuri is smirking.

“Yuuri! You’re being so mean to me!”

Yuuri laughs, then pokes at Victor’s back. “Come on. Come shower with me.”

“No, I’m mad at you.”

“I’ll wash your hair,” Yuuri offers.

Victor peers up from where his face is buried in the couch. “Promise?”

“Of course.” Yuuri holds his hand out and Victor gives him a great, put-upon sigh but he uses it to pull himself up. Yuuri leans forward over the back of the couch to kiss Victor’s nose, then lets go and turns to head to the bathroom, stripping off his shirt as he goes. Victor leers for a moment until Yuuri disappears from view, and then he kicks off his shoes and follows.

Yuuri has already started the water by the time Victor gets to the bathroom. He flashes Victor a smile, then tugs off his running pants and piles them on top of the closed toilet lid. Victor does the same, helpfully peeling Yuuri out of his underwear and socks, and then Yuuri disappears behind the frosted glass of the sliding shower door. Victor gives his blurry form a quick up and down look, then finishes undressing faster so that he can join him.

Yuuri is holding his head under the spray, and when Victor gets in, he shakes water at him. Victor laughs and pushes at him gently, and Yuuri moves out of the way so that Victor can get under the stream. Victor tilts his head back and groans loudly; the hot water is just what he needs after a double practice today. Yuuri reaches over his head to turn the heavy jet on and Victor moans gratefully and feels his bones turning to liquid.

Yuuri steals one of Victor’s expensive import body washes and starts scrubbing himself down. He stands close enough within Victor’s reach that Victor can reach out whenever he feels like it and run his hands down Yuuri’s slippery sides or over his ass. Yuuri grins at him whenever he does and leans in so that Victor can squeeze his hips, and then steps away again to wash under his arms. They sidle past each other to trade for a moment so that Yuuri can rinse himself off and get his hair soaking, and then they trade back so Yuuri can wash his hair. Victor is perfectly content to stand there under the hot water forever, stroking his thumb over Yuuri’s hip bone and watching Yuuri’s back muscles move and he rubs shampoo into his scalp. There aren’t many ways he could think to spend his time better.

Yuuri shoves his head next to Victor’s body to rinse out the shampoo, and Victor helps, a little bit. He scratches Yuuri’s scalp and really digs in, which makes Yuuri moan happily, and then passes Yuuri the conditioner. Yuuri cards it through his hair and pushes it all back off his forehead to keep it out of the way, then steps up to Victor and places his hands on Victor’s hips. Victor slides his arms around Yuuri’s back and pulls him to his chest, and Yuuri hugs him, warm and comfortable.

“Your turn,” Yuuri says.

“Can’t you do it for me?”

“Oh, I _suppose_ ,” Yuuri says. He rolls his eyes, very over exaggerated, and then pulls Victor out from under the water and picks up the shampoo again.

He scrubs at Victor’s hair and tilts Victor’s head back to gently rinse it away without getting any in Victor’s eyes, and then spends a while just stroking over Victor’s head, fingers slick with conditioner, smiling at the way Victor hums. He gives Victor a quick scalp rub, and then carefully leans Victor’s against the wall when Victor’s knees start to get weak. Victor sighs and Yuuri quickly rinses the conditioner out of his own hair, and then rescues the body wash from where it’d fallen down the tub when he was finished with it.

“Oh, Yuuri, you’re amazing,” Victor mumbles when Yuuri spreads it over his shoulders and then starts kneading at them. He presses his thumbs hard into the muscles around Victor’s shoulder blades and Victor has to press his palms to the wall to keep from just collapsing. His back as been so tight and aching lately, and Yuuri is slowly working the life back into it.

Yuuri scoops some handfuls of water over Victor’s back to rinse away the body wash, then goes back to massaging. He slides his thumbs down Victor’s spine and outwards, down and outwards, pushing the tension down and away. Victor braces himself against the wall as Yuuri really digs into his latissimi dorsi, whining through his teeth, but afterwards, he feels so much lighter.

Yuuri gets down on his knees behind Victor and starts rubbing at Victor’s thighs. Victor spreads his legs apart so that Yuuri can get at them better, and Yuuri drags the heels of his palms down toward Victor’s knees, forcing his quads to relax. He presses one knee against the edge of the tub, then the other, and then both of them when Yuuri starts on his calves. Yuuri breaks him down, slowly and firmly, and then lets Victor coalesce into a real person again. He presses kisses against Victor’s waist, in the two dimples at the small of his back, on the cheeks of his ass and the curves of his thighs. He even pays attention to the arches of Victor’s feet, and Victor feels like a human being again instead of a human-shaped block of concrete.

Yuuri pulls away for a moment, and then both of his hands are squeezing at Victor’s ass. Victor tenses a little, and then relaxes and laughs a little. “What are you doing down there?”

“Nothing.” Yuuri rubs his cheek against Victor’s back, then pulls the cheeks apart. Water flows easily down Victor’s back to the cleft of his ass and then down his thighs. Yuuri follows the path, tracing over each bump in Victor’s spine, lower and lower, down past Victor’s entrance to the little space of skin behind his balls. He rubs upwards there, and Victor jolts against the wall.

“It doesn’t feel like you’re doing nothing,” he tells Yuuri.

“Don’t mind me,” Yuuri says, as nonchalant as Yuuri is capable of being. His fingers trace the same path, down Victor’s back and across his ass, this time rubbing gently. The water is still hot and it still feels amazing, but now Victor is starting to feel warm in a different sort of way. “Rinse your hair.”

Victor twists himself to the side and scrubs all the conditioner out of his hair, splashing Yuuri a couple times with soapy water. Yuuri doesn’t seem to mind, or even notice, because he’s entirely focused right now on making his touches as light and teasing as possible. Victor arches his back helpfully as he sweeps his hair over the top of his head again, water dripping down his shoulders, and Yuuri hums like he’s pleased but he doesn’t do much more than pressing the pad of his thumb against Victor’s entrance.

“Yuuri,” Victor says. “I really do feel like you’re doing _something_ down there.”

He can practically hear Yuuri’s smirk. “Maybe.”

“Do I get a hint?”

“Nah.” The thumb gets a little more insistent, pressing in just a little bit and then withdrawing several times, not enough to hurt but enough for Victor to know that there is something inside him, if only for a couple of seconds. Yuuri makes another approving noise in the back of his throat and grips Victor’s ass again. His breath rushes against the small of Victor’s back, and then suddenly Yuuri’s nose is pressed against Victor’s tailbone and his tongue is flattening against Victor’s hole.

Victor spasms again and almost headbutts the wall as he tries to stay upright. Yuuri’s tongue is hotter than his fingers, and it feels hotter than the shower water too. It doesn’t tease at all, just goes straight for the pressure, trying to coax Victor’s body to relax a little bit. Victor feels very high strung all of a sudden, and it’s hard to make his body cooperate. He arches his back more and pushes his ass into Yuuri’s face, and Yuuri grabs onto his hips but he doesn’t make Victor stop.

Victor whimpers as he catches a hint of teeth against his skin. Yuuri’s not trying to bite him, but he has his mouth open wide, his face almost entirely buried in Victor. Victor would glance over to meet Yuuri’s gaze, but he thinks the view would probably kill him.

“Relax for me, Victor,” Yuuri says, his lips moving against Victor’s skin. It’s muffled, but understandable, and Victor tries to obey. He makes his body relax and it tightens itself a second later; his muscles flutter against Yuuri’s tongue and hold him tight for the brief moments where Yuuri is able to work his way in a little. Victor clenches his fist and focuses on anything but the way Yuuri is moving behind him, and when he relaxes again, Yuuri manages to work the tip of his tongue just past the ring of muscle. Victor gasps and almost inhales some of the water from the shower, and then whimpers with his cheek pressed against the tile wall.

One of Yuuri’s hands leaves Victor’s ass, and then there’s the tip of Yuuri’s finger pressing next to his tongue. Victor swallows hard and tries to make his body allow it, and it’s smaller and more insistent than Yuuri’s tongue, so it’s not too hard. Yuuri eases him into it, pulling back to let water cascade down Victor’s back and ease things as much as possible, and then he starts licking around Victor’s rim and crooks his finger downwards, rubbing in tight circles. He brushes over Victor’s prostate and Victor curses loudly. Yuuri grins to himself, and then starts rubbing against it and bites at Victor’s ass cheek.

Victor throws his head back and his knees threaten to give out again. He’s holding himself up pretty well, he thinks, or at least he was. Yuuri isn’t playing around at all, going straight for the spot that breaks Victor and staying there. Victor’s cock brushes against the wall a couple times, shocking him with how cool it is; his skin feels like it’s on fire right now, and the water makes sure that everything stays steamy in the most literal sense.

Yuuri withdraws his finger for a second, licks a thick stripe straight up the middle of Victor’s ass, and then presses back in with two. It’s tighter and it aches a little, but Yuuri goes straight back to Victor’s prostate and starts assaulting his nerves again and Victor nearly crumples. He stretches his fingers wide inside Victor and lets them pull back together, then tugs gently at Victor’s rim. Victor hisses at the stretch, which is verging on uncomfortable, but then Yuuri’s tongue pushes between his knuckles, licking sloppily around the edges, and Victor nearly has a heart attack. Yuuri’s fingers keep him just open enough that he can fuck Victor with his tongue, dragging around the rim and making loud, wet noises with his lips. His fingers twist to the side a little and the index one presses down and rubs hard and Victor screams.

Once he’s found what he’s looking for, Yuuri doesn’t let up even a little. He fingers him deep, always making sure to keep one fingertip driving Victor crazy, and his tongue keeps curling just inside Victor’s rim and then tugging out, the little flicks making Victor’s breath catch and die away. Nails dig into Victor’s ass, maybe hard enough that Victor will be able to see four little crescent lines whenever he manages to knock his soul back into his body. He’s so hard, aching with the onslaught, and Yuuri doesn’t seem inclined to touch him, but Victor isn’t so sure that matters.

“Yuuri,” he whines. His hips are working back against Yuuri’s face in shallow thrusts. Every now and then, he hears Yuuri take a deep breath, because he’s more or less suffocating himself in Victor’s ass otherwise. Yuuri is very dedicated. “Yuuri!”

Yuuri hums, and the vibrations tingle all around Victor’s entrance like a touch of their own. Victor turns and bites his own forearm, then cries out again.

“Yuuri! Please!”

Yuuri sucks sloppily at Victor’s skin, then turns a few degrees to bite Victor’s ass again. His fingers close together naturally, and then there are two fingertips rubbing against Victor’s prostate, pressing down and never letting up. Victor sobs and buries his face in his arm as Yuuri– fuck, Yuuri’s sucking a bruise on Victor’s ass, he’ll definitely feel that when he sits down, maybe even when he puts pants back on.

The water’s pretty lukewarm by now but Yuuri’s tongue is still so hot. It slides around Yuuri’s knuckles again, half a circle one way and then half a circle the other way, over and over again. Yuuri’s thumb presses up under Victor’s balls again, which sends sensation shooting upwards, and then back down from Yuuri’s fingers inside of Victor, back and forth like light trapped between mirrors until Victor’s body can’t take it anymore.

He howls, and his fingers squeak as he claws at the wall. He shoves his ass back into Yuuri’s face and it can’t be comfortable but Victor doesn’t care at all about anything other than the way deep, rolling pleasure is wracking his body. He’s shaking almost violently and his cock is jerking, spilling all over the wall without a touch. Heat burns through all of his veins like it’s coming out of the very core of him. He sobs Yuuri’s name, over and over, while his orgasm goes on and on because Yuuri refuses to stop until Victor is gasping for breath and he reaches back and pushes Yuuri away before he actually collapses.

Yuuri’s breathing hard too. Victor finally gets himself to turn around so he can sink down against the wall, and he sees that Yuuri’s lips are red and swollen, his eyes are dark, and his hand is working frantically over his cock. It looks like he’s almost painfully hard; he was using both hands on Victor, and there was no way to get relief. Victor almost smiles at that, but he’s still so overwhelmed that there’s really nothing he can do but sit there and watch as Yuuri stiffens and then drops his head to his chest and moans and spills on the shower floor. The water starts rinsing it away pretty quickly and they both watch the swirl of white rush down the drain and vanish, and then Yuuri groans and leans his forehead against Victor’s knee.

“So,” he murmurs. “I may not have been doing nothing.”

Victor shakes his head. “It appears not.”

“I think you’ll forgive me.” Yuuri reaches over and turns the cold water tap down. The water heats up again almost immediately. Yuuri sighs and leans into it for a moment, then crawls between Victor’s legs and tucks himself against his chest. Victor rests his chin on top of Yuuri’s head and strokes his chin. “Do you think you have to take another shower after that? Or is the first one still good?”

“I don’t think I’m going to be able to more for long enough for it to matter,” Victor says. They could probably drown in the shower, and he wouldn’t mind.

“That’s okay,” Yuuri says. He smiles against Victor’s shoulder. “I’ll wake you up when the water gets cold.”


End file.
